


now i'm sitting here, before the fire

by Teddydora



Series: caledonia valhalla au [2]
Category: Magnus Chase and the Gods of Asgard - Rick Riordan, Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types, Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan
Genre: Family Fluff, Floor Nineteen, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hall Nineteen, Magnus is babey, Stan Gunilla, she's been through a lot and i love her character okay
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-28
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:53:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 26,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27758707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Teddydora/pseuds/Teddydora
Summary: She had ditched her helmet, chain mail and hammer. Her blond hair was now hanging loose, no longer in pleats, flowing over her shoulders. Her white dress was embroidered with Viking runes around the collar and cuffs. From her golden belt hung a set of old-fashioned keys. There were twin hammers strapped to her back. She looked like the maid of honour at someone’s Mortal Kombat wedding. “Hello little barn, how’re you settling in? Killed anyone yet?" She noticed the overturned sofa, “Did the furniture offend you?”An AU where Magnus is killed on Half-Blood Hill, aged 6 and wakes up in Valhalla
Relationships: Annabeth Chase (Percy Jackson) & Magnus Chase, Luke Castellan & Annabeth Chase & Magnus Chase & Thalia Grace, Magnus Chase & Frey, Magnus Chase & Gunilla, Magnus Chase & Halfborn Gunderson, Magnus Chase & Mallory Keen, Magnus Chase & Njord, Magnus Chase & Thomas Jefferson Jr.
Series: caledonia valhalla au [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2030200
Comments: 46
Kudos: 44





	1. this isn't Elysium?!?

Dying hurt. It hurt like  _ hell. _

One second, Magnus was lying on the hill, weakened, dying,  _ ready _ . The next - he wasn’t.

He felt like he was floating, like he was flying. Then he was dreaming.

Well, not dreaming exactly - more just seeing stuff. He’d heard from Luke that demigods tended to have dreams about important events. It was a bit late for him though. Just a bit. 

He was with his mom, a few months ago. Before he went to stay with Fredrick, before he ran away, before Luke and Thalia - before everything. She was holding his hand at the end of a long walk, ready with his inhaler in case he had an attack. Her face was all scrunched up like she was laughing at something. “You’re really like your father, sometimes, you know, Magnus?”

Initially, when Magnus found out that other kids had two parents, not just a mother or father, he was jealous. But his mom told him that it was fine not to have a dad, that he didn’t need one - it didn’t matter, before trickling him and blowing raspberries onto his stomach. The memory made him wince. He should’ve never left her. He might’ve had a normal life then. The dream faded away. 

Then he was being pulled along by a scary blond girl - like an older Annabeth - with armour and furs and a pair of absolutely huge warhammers strapped to her back. “Shush, child,” she whispered, “Be still or you’ll fall.” 

Magnus glanced down and immediately forced himself to stop squirming. It was just a mass of nothing, just grey going on forever. “The Gap does not care who it consumes.” He passed out. 

Magnus awoke gasping, every muscle in his body tingling with alarm. He sat up and grabbed his gut, expecting to find a wound but he felt no pain.

His clothes looked perfectly fine – not wet or burned or torn. In fact, his clothes looked too fine. The same stuff he’d been wearing for weeks – his only pair of jeans, his layers of shirts, his jacket – didn’t smell. They’d seemingly been washed, dried and put back on him while he was unconscious. They even had a warm lemony scent that reminded him of the good old days when his mom did his laundry. 

His shoes were like new, as shiny as when Luke dug them out of the dumpster behind Marathon Sports for him. Even weirder: he was clean. his hands weren’t caked with grime. Magnus’ skin felt freshly scrubbed. He ran my fingers through his hair and found no tangles, no twigs, no pieces of litter. Slowly he got to his feet. 

There wasn’t a scratch on him. He bounced on my heels. He felt like He could run a mile. Magnus breathed in the smell of chimney fires and an approaching snowstorm. I almost laughed with relief. Somehow he’d survived!

Except … that wasn’t possible. Where was he? 

Gradually his senses expanded. He was standing in the entry courtyard of an opulent town house, the kind you might see on Beacon Hill – eight storeys of imposing white limestone and grey marble jutting into the winter sky. The double front doors were dark heavy wood bound with iron. In the centre of each was a life-size wolf’s-head door knocker.

He turned to look for a street exit. There wasn’t one, just a fifteen-foot-tall white limestone wall surrounding the courtyard. How could you not have a front gate? He couldn’t see much over the wall, but he was obviously back in Boston. 

Magnus recognized some of the surrounding buildings. In the distance rose the towers of Downtown Crossing. He was probably on Beacon Street, just across from the Common. But how had he got here? In one corner of the courtyard stood a tall birch tree with pure white bark. 

Magnus thought about climbing it to get over the wall, but the lowest branches were out of reach. Then he realized the tree was in full leaf, which shouldn’t have been possible in the winter. Not only that: its leaves glittered gold as if someone had painted them with twenty-four-carat gilt. 

Next to the tree, a bronze plaque was affixed to the wall. He hadn’t really noticed it earlier, since half the buildings in Boston had historic markers, but then he looked closer. The inscriptions were in two languages. One was the Norse alphabet he’d seen earlier. The other was English: 

WELCOME TO THE GROVE OF GLASIR. NO SOLICITING. NO LOITERING. HOTEL DELIVERIES: PLEASE USE THE NIFLHEIM ENTRANCE. 

Then the double doors swung inward with a groan. Blinding golden light spilled out. A burly man appeared on the stoop. He wore a doorman’s uniform: top hat, white gloves and a dark green jacket with tails and the interlocking letters HV embroidered on the lapel, but there was no way this guy was an actual doorman. His warty face was smeared with ashes. His beard hadn’t been trimmed in decades. His eyes were bloodshot and murderous, and a double-bladed axe hung at his side. His name tag read: HUNDING, SAXONY, VALUED TEAM MEMBER SINCE 749 C.E.

“S-s-sorry,’ Magnus stammered. ‘I must … um, wrong house.”

The man scowled. He shuffled closer and sniffed me. He smelled like turpentine and burning meat. “Wrong house? I don’t think so. You’re checking in.” 

“Uh … what?” Magnus had no idea what was going on. He almost wanted to cry. This wasn’t any part of Hades that he thought he’d be going to. This place was  _ weird _ . He wanted to leave, run away, get out. He wanted his mom. 

“You’re dead, aren’t you?” the man said. “Follow me. I’ll show you to registration”

The place was huge. The foyer alone could’ve been the world’s largest hunting lodge – a space twice as big as the mansion appeared on the outside. 

An acre of hardwood floor was covered with exotic animal skins: zebra, lion and a forty-foot-long reptile that Magnus wouldn’t want to have met when it was alive. Against the right wall, a fire crackled in a bedroom-size hearth. In front of it, a few high-school-age guys in fluffy green bathrobes lounged on overstuffed leather couches, laughing and drinking from silver goblets.

Over the mantle hung the stuffed head of a wolf. Ew, thought Magnus. Columns made from rough-hewn tree trunks held up the ceiling, which was lined with spears for rafters. Polished shields gleamed on the walls. Light seemed to radiate from everywhere – a warm golden glow that hurt his eyes like a summer afternoon after a dark theatre. In the middle of the foyer, a freestanding display board announced:

TODAY’S ACTIVITIES SINGLE COMBAT TO THE DEATH! – OSLO ROOM, 10 A.M. GROUP COMBAT TO THE DEATH! – STOCKHOLM ROOM, 

11 A.M. BUFFET LUNCH TO THE DEATH! – DINING HALL, 

12 P.M. FULL ARMY COMBAT TO THE DEATH! – MAIN COURTYARD, 

1 P.M. BIKRAM YOGA TO THE DEATH! – COPENHAGEN ROOM, BRING YOUR OWN MAT, 4 P.M.

The doorman, Hunding said something, but his head was ringing so badly he missed it. “Sorry,” Magnus said, “What?”

“Luggage,” he repeated. “Do you have any?”

“Um …” he reached for his shoulder, where he might have had a backpack, but apparently not. “No.” Hunding grunted. 

“No one brings luggage any more. Don’t they put anything on your funeral pyre?”

“My what?” 

‘Never mind.’ He scowled towards the far corner of the room, where an overturned boat’s keel served as the reception desk. It was the same height as Magnus. He groaned, he hated having to stare up at stuff for ages. It hurt his neck.

“Guess there’s no putting it off. Come on.” The man behind the keel apparently used the same barber as Hunding. His beard was so big it had its own zip code. His hair looked like a buzzard that had exploded on a windshield. He was dressed in a forest-green pinstriped suit. His name tag read: HELGI, MANAGER, EAST GOTHLAND, VALUED TEAM MEMBER SINCE 749 C.E. 

“Welcome!” Helgi glanced up from his computer screen. “Checking in?” He looked confused before glancing down. “You’re a young one, aren’t you?

“Uh–, I guess?”

“You realize check-in time is three p.m,” he said. “If you die earlier in the day, I can’t guarantee your room will be ready.”

“I can just go back to being alive,” Magnus offered. 

“No, no.” He tapped on his keyboard. “Ah, here we are.” He grinned, revealing exactly three teeth. “We’ve upgraded you to a suite.” 

Next to Magnus, Hunding muttered under his breath, “Everyone is upgraded to a suite. All we have are suites.”

“Hunding …” warned the manager. 

“Sorry, sir.”

“You don’t want me to use the stick.” Hunding winced. 

“What’s going on? This doesn’t seem like Elysium.” Helgi frowned down at Magnus,

“Elysium? Do you have Greek relations by any chance?”

“Yeah, my cousin. She’s a demigod. So am I, but I’m confused, where am I?”

“You know about the Greeks? Don’t go talking about it. You’ll get in big trouble if you do, boy. This is Valhalla. Everything will be explained at dinner but essentially, the Norse Gods are real and you’re most likely the child of one of you’re here  _ and _ a demigod. Do you understand?”

“I- yes?” Magnus felt sick, bile almost rising in his throat. This was too much,  _ too much, this was wrong he was in the wrong place. _

“Here is your room key.” Helgi handed him a stone engraved with a single Viking rune, like the stones Magnus remembered that Uncle Randolph kept in his library.

“Would you like the minibar key?”

“Uh –”

“He wants the minibar key,” Hunding answered for him. 

“Kid, you want the minibar key. It’s going to be a long stay.” His mouth tasted like copper. 

“How long?”

“Forever,” Helgi said, “or at least until Ragnarok. Hunding will now show you to your room. Enjoy your afterlife. Next!”

Magnus wasn’t paying the closest attention as Hunding guided him through the hotel. He felt as if he’d been spun around fifty times then released into the middle of a circus and told to have fun. 

Each hall they walked through seemed bigger than the one before. Most of the hotel guests looked like they were in high school, though some looked slightly older. Guys and girls sat together in small groups, lounging in front of fireplaces, chatting in many different languages, eating snacks or playing board games like chess and Scrabble and something that involved real daggers and a blowtorch. 

Peeking into side lounges, he spotted pool tables, pinball machines, an old-fashioned video arcade and something that looked like an iron maiden from a torture chamber. Staff members in dark green shirts moved among the guests, bringing platters of food and pitchers of drink. 

As far as he could tell, all the servers were buff female warriors with shields on their backs and swords or axes on their belts, which is not something you see a lot in the service industry. One heavily armed waitress passed him with a steaming plate of spring rolls. 

His stomach rumbled. ‘How can I be hungry if I’m dead?’ He asked Hunding. ‘None of these people look dead.’ 

Hunding shrugged. ‘Well, there’s dead and then there’s dead. Think of Valhalla more like … an upgrade. You’re one of the einherjar now.’ He pronounced the word like in-HAIR-yar. 

‘Einherjar,’ he repeated. ‘Just rolls right off the tongue.’ 

‘Yeah. Singular: einherji.’ He said it like in-HAIR-yee. ‘We’re the chosen of Odin, soldiers in his eternal army. The word einherjar is usually translated as lone warriors, but that doesn’t really capture the meaning. It’s more like … the once warriors – the warriors who fought bravely in the last life and will fight bravely again on the Day of Doom. Duck.’ 

‘The Day of Doom Duck?’ 

‘No, duck!’ Hunding pushed him down as a spear flew past. It impaled a guy sitting on the nearest sofa, killing him instantly. Drinks, dice and Monopoly money flew everywhere. The people he’d been playing with rose to their feet, looking mildly annoyed, and glared in the direction the spear had come from. 

‘I saw that, John Red Hand!’ Hunding yelled. ‘The lounge is a No Impaling area!’ From the billiard room, somebody laughed and called back in … Swedish? He didn’t sound very remorseful. 

‘Anyway.’ Hunding resumed walking as if nothing had happened. ‘The elevators are right over here.’ 

‘Wait,’ he said. ‘That guy was just murdered with a spear. Aren’t you going to do anything?’ 

‘Oh, the wolves will clean up.’ 

‘Wolves?’ Sure enough, while the other Monopoly players were sorting their pieces, a pair of grey wolves bounded into the lounge, grabbed the dead man by his legs and dragged him away, the spear still sticking out of his chest. The trail of blood evaporated instantly. The perforated sofa mended itself. He cowered behind the nearest potted plant. Magnus wished he’d ended up in an afterlife where the mascot was a gerbil. 

‘Aren’t there any rules against killing?’ He asked in a small voice. Hunding raised a bushy eyebrow. 

‘That was just a bit of fun, boy. The victim will be fine by dinner.’ He pulled him out of his hiding place, carrying him in his arms. ‘Come on.’ Before he could ask more about the ‘bit of fun’, they reached an elevator. Its cage door was made out of spears. Overlapping gold shields lined the walls. The control panel had so many buttons, it stretched from floor to ceiling. The highest number was 540. Hunding put Magnus down (at  _ last _ ) and pressed 19. 

‘How can this place have five hundred and forty floors?’ he said. ‘It would be the tallest building in the world.’ 

‘If it only existed in one world, yes. But it connects with all the Nine Worlds. You just came through the Midgard entrance. Most mortals do.’ 

‘Midgard …’ Magnus vaguely remembered something about the Vikings believing in nine different worlds. But it had been a long time since his mom read him those Norse bedtime stories. 

‘You mean, like, the world of humans.’ 

‘Aye.’ Hunding took a breath and recited, ‘Five hundred and forty floors has Valhalla; five hundred and forty doors leading out into the Nine Worlds.’ He grinned. ‘You never know when or where we’ll have to march off to war.’ 

‘How often has that happened?’ 

‘Well, never. But still … it could happen at any time. I, for one, can’t wait! Finally, Helgi will have to stop punishing me.’ 

‘The manager? What’s he punishing you for?’ Hunding’s expression soured. ‘Long story. He and I –’ The elevator’s spear-cage door rolled open. ‘Forget it.’ Hunding clapped me on the back. ‘You’ll like floor nineteen. Good hallmates!’ 

Magnus had always thought of hotel corridors as dark, depressing and claustrophobic. Floor nineteen? The complete opposite. The vaulted ceiling was twenty feet tall, lined with – surprise surprise – more spears for rafters. Valhalla had apparently got a good deal at the Spear Wholesale Warehouse. 

Torches burned in iron sconces, but they didn’t seem to make any smoke. They just cast warm orange light across the wall displays of swords, shields and tapestries. The hall was so wide you could’ve played a regulation soccer game, no problem. 

The blood-red carpet had tree-branch designs that moved as if swaying in the wind. Set about fifty feet apart, each guest-room door was rough-hewn oak bound in iron. I didn’t see any doorknobs or locks. In the centre of each door, a plate-size iron circle was inscribed with a name surrounded by a ring of Viking runes. 

The first read: HALFBORN GUNDERSON. Behind that door he heard shouting and metal clanging like a sword fight was in progress. The next read: MALLORY KEEN. Behind that door, silence. Then: THOMAS JEFFERSON JR. The popping of gunfire came from inside, though it sounded more like a video game than the actual thing. (Yes, he’d heard both.) 

  
  


They’d almost reached the T at the end of the hall when a large black bird shot around the corner and zipped past him, almost clipping his ear. He watched the bird disappear down the hall – a raven, with a notepad and a pen in its talons. 

‘What was that?’ He asked. 

“A raven,’ Hunding said, which he found very helpful. Finally we stopped at a door inscribed MAGNUS CHASE. Seeing his name written in iron, inscribed with runes, he started to tremble. His last hope that this might be a mistake, that he’d be called back or given a transfer of some kind, left him. The hotel was expecting him. They’d spelled his name right and everything. 

There was his name, right there, on the door. Once he went through, he would be checked in. According to the manager, he’d have a new home until doomsday. 

“Go ahead." Hunding pointed at the runestone key in his hand. The symbol looked sort of like an infinity sign or a sideways hourglass:

ᛞ

  
  


"It’s dagaz," Hunding said. "Nothing to be afraid of. It symbolizes new beginnings, transformations. It also opens your door. Only you have access." 

He swallowed. "What if, for instance, the staff want to get in?" 

"Oh, we use the staff key." Hunding patted the axe on his belt. Magnus couldn’t tell if he was kidding. He held up the runestone. He didn’t want to try it, but he also didn’t want to stay in the hallway until he got impaled by a random spear or injured by a raven hit-and-run. Instinctively, he touched the stone to the matching dagaz mark on the door. The ring of runes glowed green. The door swung open. 

Magnus stepped inside, and his jaw hit the floor. The suite was nicer than any place he’d ever lived, nicer than any place he’d ever visited, including Uncle Randolph’s mansion. 

In a trance, he moved to the middle of the suite, where a central atrium was open to the sky. His shoes sank into the thick green grass. Four large oak trees ringed the garden like pillars. The lower branches spread into the room across the ceiling, interweaving with the rafters. The taller branches grew up through the opening of the atrium, making a lacy canopy. Sunlight warmed his face. A pleasant breeze wafted through the room, bringing the smell of jasmine. 

"How?" He stared at Hunding. "Hundreds of floors are above us, but that’s open sky. And it’s the middle of winter. How can it feel sunny and warm?" 

Hunding shrugged. "I don’t know – magic. But this is your afterlife, boy. You’ve earned some perks, eh?" 

Cool, apparently sacrificing your life came with  _ some _ benefits. 

He turned in a slow circle. The suite was shaped like a cross, with four sections radiating from the central atrium. Each wing was as large as his old apartment. 

One was the entry hall where he’d come in. The next was a bedroom with a king-size bed. Despite its size, the room was spare and simple: beige covers and fluffy-looking pillows on the bed, beige walls with no artwork or mirrors or other decoration. Heavy brown curtains could be drawn to close off the space. He remembered when he was a kid, how his mom used to make my room as no-frills as possible. He’d always found it hard to sleep indoors unless he had total darkness and nothing to distract him

He felt like somebody had reached into my mind and pulled out exactly what he needed to be comfortable. The wing to the left was a dressing area/bathroom tiled in black and beige, his favourite colours. The perks included a sauna, a hot tub, a walk-in wardrobe, a walk-in shower and a pretty nice toilet too. Even better: it was all short enough for Magnus so he wouldn’t have to get a stool or anything. 

The suite’s fourth wing was a full kitchen and living room. At one end of the living room, a big leather couch faced a plasma-screen TV with about six different game systems stacked in the media cabinet. 

On the other side, two recliners sat in front of a crackling fireplace and a wall of books. Yes, he liked to read. He was weird that way. Even after running away, he would often ask if they could go to the Library (always backed up by Annabeth), learning random stuff just to pass the time in a warm, safe place. For weeks he had missed his book collection; Magnus never seriously thought he would have one again. 

Magnus walked over to check out the titles on the shelves. Then he noticed the picture framed in silver on the fireplace mantel. Something like a bubble of helium made its way up his throat. 

"No way …" he picked up the photo. It showed him, at age four, and his mom at the summit of Mount Washington in New Hampshire. That had been one of the best trips of Magnus’ life. They’d asked a park ranger to take the photo. 

In the shot, he was grinning (which he didn’t do much anymore), showing off his missing two front teeth. His mom knelt behind him with her arms wrapped around his chest, her green eyes crinkling at the corners, her freckles dark from the sun, her blonde hair swept sideways by the wind. "This is impossible," Magnus murmured. "There was only one copy of this picture. It's with my mom …" He turned to Hunding, who was wiping his eyes. "You okay?" 

He cleared his throat. "Fine! Of course I’m fine. The hotel likes to provide you with keepsakes, reminders of your old life. Photographs …" Under his beard, his mouth might have been quivering. "Back when I died, they didn’t have photographs. It’s just … you’re lucky." 

No one had called Magnus lucky in a very long time. The idea shook him out of his daze. He’d been on the run from monsters or whatever for ages. He’d been dead, or upgraded, for only a few hours. This bellhop from Saxony had been here since 749 C.E. Magnus wondered how he had died and what family he’d left behind. 

Twelve hundred years later, he was still getting teary-eyed about them, which seemed like a cruel way to spend an afterlife. 

Hunding straightened and wiped his nose. "Enough of that! If you have any questions, call the front desk. I look forward to hearing about your brave exploits tonight at dinner." 

"My … brave exploits?" 

"Now, don’t be modest. You wouldn’t have been chosen unless you did something heroic."

"But –" 

“Been a pleasure serving you, sir, and welcome to the Hotel Valhalla." 

He held out his palm. It took Magnus a second to realize he wanted a tip. 

"Oh, um …" He dug into his jacket pockets, not expecting to find anything. Miraculously, the chocolate bar he’d swiped from a corner store was still there, undamaged from its trip through the Great Beyond. He gave it to Hunding. 

"Sorry, that’s all I have." His eyes turned the size of drink coasters. 

"Gods of Asgard! Thank you, kid!" He sniffed the chocolate and held it up like a holy chalice. "Wow! Okay, you need anything, you let me know. Your Valkyrie will come get you right before dinner. Wow!" 

"My Valkyrie? Wait. I don’t have a Valkyrie.’ Hunding laughed, his eyes still fixed on the chocolate bar. 

"Ah, you’re lucky kid, you’ll meet Gunilla soon enough, just be respectful and she’ll be nice enough to you - she likes kids." 

"Huh? Who’s Gorilla?”

"Also, don’t call her that, she hates it. See you tonight, kid!" Hunding headed for the door. "I got things to eat – I mean do. Try not to kill yourself before dinner!"

  
  


Magnus collapsed on the grass. Gazing up through the tree branches at the blue sky, he had trouble breathing. He hadn’t had an asthma attack in a while, but he remembered all the nights his mom had held me while he wheezed, feeling like an invisible belt was tightening around his chest. 

Being outside always helped with his asthma, it was always better when he was hiking or hillwalking and when he was with Annabeth, Luke and Thalia - it almost completely disappeared. Lying in the middle of the atrium, he breathed in the fresh air and hoped his lungs would settle down. 

Unfortunately, he was pretty sure this wasn’t an asthma attack. This was a complete nervous breakdown. What shook him wasn’t just the fact that he was dead, stuck in a bizarre Viking afterlife where impaled each other in the lobby and their friends were completely fine about it. 

The way his life had gone so far, he could accept that. Of course he’d end up in Valhalla, eternally six years old. Just his luck. 

What really hit him: for the first time since he ran away, he was in a comfortable place, alone and safe (as far as he could tell at the moment). Shelters didn’t count. Soup kitchens and rooftops and sleeping bags under bridges didn’t count. He’d always slept with one eye open. He could never relax, not even with someone keeping guard, a monster could appear at any moment, or a nosy busybody or a cop. Here, he was free to think. And thinking wasn’t a good thing. 

He thought about the battle, the running, the helplessness. He lost his knife, thrown it at the furies. That was pretty cool but from what he remembered, he needed to be holding some kind of weapon to qualify here. Did the stick even count? He never fought with it - just had it as a terrible precaution. 

His breathing still rattled, but he got up and paced around his new room. In the photo on the mantel, four year-old Magnus grinned at him with his tangled hair and his missing teeth. That kid was so clueless, so unappreciative of what he had. 

He scanned the bookshelves: his favourite fantasy and horror authors from when he lived at home - J.R.R.Tolkien, Phillip Pullman, C.S. Lewis, Roald Dahl, Michael Murpugo, Tomi Adeyemi, Neil Gaiman; his favourite graphic-novel series – Scott Pilgrim, Sandman, Watchmen, Saga; plus a lot of books he’d been meaning to read at the library (or if he ever made it to camp). (Pro homeless tip: public libraries are safe havens. They have bathrooms. They hardly ever kick out kids who are reading as long as they don’t smell too bad or cause a scene.) 

He pulled down the illustrated children’s book of Norse myths his mom read to him when he was little. Inside were simplistic pictures of happy, smiling Viking gods, rainbows, flowers and pretty girls with blonde hair. 

And sentences like “The gods dwelt in a wonderful and beautiful realm!” There was nothing about Hades, who sent furies against your friends for existing, or weird spiders who attacked your cousins in the night. 

On the coffee table was a leather-bound notebook titled GUEST SERVICES. He flipped through it. The room service menu went on for ten pages. The TV channel list was almost as long, and the hotel map was so convoluted, divided into so many subsections, he couldn’t make sense of it. 

There were no clearly marked emergency doors labelled: EXIT HERE TO RETURN TO YOUR OLD LIFE! He threw the guest-services book into the fireplace. As it burned, a new copy appeared on the coffee table. 

Stupid magical hotel wouldn’t even allow him to properly vandalize things. In a rage, he flipped the sofa. He didn’t expect it to go far, or even  _ move _ , but it cartwheeled across the room and smashed into the far wall. He stared at the trail of dislodged cushions, the upside-down sofa, the cracked plaster and leather skid marks on the wall. How had he done that? The sofa didn’t magically right itself. It stayed where he’d thrown it. The anger drained out of him. He’d probably just made extra work for some poor staff member like Hunding. That didn’t seem fair. 

In the old stories, Valhalla was for heroes who died in battle. He remembered that much. He definitely didn’t feel like a hero. He’d got his butt kicked and let his friend’s die because he wasn’t even a good healer. A brave death? Not so much. 

Just then someone knocked on his door. It swung open and a girl stepped inside … the same girl who pulled him through the grey void. 

She had ditched her helmet, chain mail and hammer. Her blond hair was now hanging loose, no longer in pleats, flowing over her shoulders. Her white dress was embroidered with Viking runes around the collar and cuffs. From her golden belt hung a set of old-fashioned keys. There were twin hammers strapped to her back. She looked like the maid of honour at someone’s Mortal Kombat wedding. “Hello  _ litle barn, _ how’re you settling in? Killed anyone yet?" She noticed the overturned sofa, “Did the furniture offend you?” 

"You’re real," he noted.

She patted her own arms. "Yes, it appears I am." 

“Thalia.”

“No, my name is Gunilla.”

“No, I mean, what happened to her, the girl with me? Black hair, spear?”

She nodded, then frowned. “I was in a rush getting you before your soul passed to Hel but I believe she was turned into a tree before she died, your body was too but obviously you’re here instead.”

“But why am I here? I’m no hero.”

Gunilla took a deep breath, as if she was holding herself back, “ _ Barn _ , what you did on the hill, you sacrificed yourself to try and save a friend, you did it knowingly too - that’s brave, you are a hero Magnus Chase, whether you know it or not.”

“Okay, but why here, why not Elysium or Asphodel ?” Gunilla swore under her breath. 

“There are many different pantheons, many different gods. No-one really knows why there are but it’s believed that it’s tied to belief from humans or other creatures,” Magnus tried not to take offense at being called a creature, “However, do not make it too well known that you have ties with the Greeks, it would not do to have shared knowledge of them spread around.”

“But if people have been here for hundreds of years, haven’t some of them come across other goddy stuff?”

“Yes, but it’s more like an unacknowledged thing. A badly kept secret. Everybody knows of it, which means your presentation shouldn’t be too confusing, but just - just don't broadcast it.”

“Oka -” From the wall speakers, a horn blast sounded so loudly it rattled the picture on the mantel. 

"What’s that?" he asked. "An air raid?" 

"Dinner." The girl straightened. She took a deep breath and extended her hand. "Let’s do proper introductions, Hello, I’m Gunilla, Daughter of Thor." 

Magnus blinked. “Cool name.” 

She shook his hand, her grip so tight his finger bones popped. "I will now escort you to dinner." 

In the hallway, Magnus’ neighbours were starting to emerge. Thomas Jefferson Jr looked about seventeen years olf. He had short curly hair, a lanky frame and a rifle slung over one shoulder. His blue wool coat had brass buttons and chevrons on the sleeve – a U.S. Army Civil War uniform, I guessed. 

He nodded and smiled. "How you doing?" 

"Um, dead, apparently." 

He laughed. "Yeah. You’ll get used to it. Call me T.J." 

"Magnus.” 

"Come on." Gunilla pulled him along. They passed a girl who must’ve been Mallory Keen. She had frizzy red hair, green eyes and a serrated knife, which she was shaking in the face of a six-foot-three guy who was therefore Halfborn Gunderson, judging by the name on the door he was standing outside of. 

She pushed away several other einherjar who were trying to get in. "Next car, guys." The spear-cage door slid shut. Gunilla inserted one of her keys into an override slot on the panel. She pressed a red rune and the elevator descended. "I’ll take you into the dining hall before the main doors open. That way you can get the lay of the land." 

"Uh … sure. Thanks." Nordic easy-listening music started playing from the ceiling. Congratulations, Magnus! He thought. Welcome to warrior paradise, where you can listen to Frank Sinatra in Norwegian FOREVER!

"So … everybody on floor nineteen looks pretty young," Magnus noted. “Does Valhalla only take teenagers? Gunilla shook her head. 

"The einherjar are grouped by the age they were when they died. You’re in the youngest tier, which goes up to about age nineteen. Most of the time, you won’t even see the other two tiers – adults and seniors. It’s better that way. The adults … well, they don’t take teens seriously, even if the teens have been here hundreds of years longer." 

"Typical," Magnus said. 

"As for the senior warriors, they don’t always mix well. Imagine a really violent retirement home." 

“Yeesh,” grimaced Magnus, “So, you’re a Valkyrie. You chose all the people in the hotel?" 

"Yes," she said. "I personally chose everyone in this hotel." 

"Ha, ha. You know what I meant. Your … sisterhood or whatever." 

"That’s right. Valkyries are responsible for choosing the einherjar. Each warrior here died a valiant death. Each had a belief in honour, or some connection to the Norse gods that made them eligible for Valhalla." 

"A connection … like being the child of a god?" Gunilla nodded gravely. 

"Many einherjar are demigods. Many are regular mortals. You’re chosen for Valhalla because of your courage and honour, not your heritage." 

"And you?" I asked. "How did you become a Valkyrie? Did you die a noble death?" 

She laughed. “Yes, I died a few hundred years ago in a battle to defend my village. It went wrong - for me at least, and I ended up here. A few centuries on: I’m now the Captain of the Valkyries and a Thane, to boot.”

“What’s a Thane?”

“It’ll be explained at dinner” The elevator doors opened. They stepped into a room the size of a concert arena. 

His mouth dropped. "Holy –" 

"Welcome," Gunilla said, "to the Feast Hall of the Slain." 

Tiers of long tables like stadium seating curved downward from the nosebleed section. In the centre of the room, instead of a basketball court, a tree rose taller than the Statue of Liberty. Its lowest branches were maybe a hundred feet up. Its canopy spread over the entire hall, scraping against the domed ceiling and sprouting through a massive opening at the top. Above, stars glittered in the night sky. 

Magnus’ first question probably wasn’t the most important. "Why is there a goat in the tree?" In fact, a lot of animals skittered among the branches. He couldn’t tell what most of them were, but wobbling along the lowest branch was a very fat shaggy goat. Its swollen udders rained milk like leaky showerheads. Below, on the dining-hall floor, a team of four stocky warriors carried a big golden bucket on poles set across their shoulders. They shuffled back and forth, trying to stay under the goat so they could catch the streams of milk. Judging by how soaked the warriors were, they missed a lot. 

"The goat is Heidrun," Gunilla told him. "Her milk is brewed to make the mead of Valhalla. It’s good stuff. You’ll see." 

"And the guys chasing her around?" 

"Yeah, that’s a thankless job. Behave yourself, or you might get assigned to vat duty." 

"Uh … couldn’t they just, I don’t know, bring the goat down here?" 

"She’s a free-range goat. Her mead tastes better that way." 

"Of course it does,’ he said. "And … all the other animals? I see squirrels and possums and –" 

"Sugar gliders and sloths," Gunilla offered. "Those are cute." 

"Okay. But you guys eat dinner here? That doesn’t sound hygienic with all the animal droppings." 

"The animals in the Tree of Laeradr are well behaved." 

"The Tree of … Lay-rah-dur. You named your tree." 

"Most important things have names." She frowned at Magnus. "Who are you again?" He rolled his eyes up at her. "Some of the animals are immortal and have particular jobs. I can’t spot him right now, but somewhere up there is a stag named Eikthrymir. We call him Ike for short. You see that waterfall?" 

It was hard to miss. From somewhere high in the tree, water ran down grooves in the bark and formed one powerful torrent that cascaded off a branch in a roaring white curtain. It crashed into a pond the size of an Olympic pool between two of the tree’s roots. 

"The stag’s horns spray water non-stop," Gunilla said. "It flows down the branches into that lake. From there, it goes underground and feeds every river in every world." 

"So … all water is stag-horn run-off? That doesn’t sound very scientific." 

"It’s not all from Ike’s horns. There’s also snowmelt, rainwater, pollutants and trace amounts of fluoride and jotun spit." 

"Jotun?" 

"You know, giants." She didn’t appear to be kidding, though it was hard to be sure. Her face was serious but her eyes were bright and calculating. “Any more questions?”

"No more questions," Magnus decided. "My head would explode." 

"That would be messy," Gunilla agreed. "Let’s get your seat before –" Around the perimeter of the room, a hundred doors burst open. The armies of Valhalla swarmed in. "Dinner is served," Gunilla said. 

We were swept up in a tidal wave of hungry warriors. Einherjar poured in from every direction, pushing, joking and laughing as they headed for their seats. "Hold on," Gunilla told me. 

She grabbed my wrist and we flew into the air, Peter-Pan-style. Magnus yelped. "A little warning?"

"I said hold on." They skimmed above the heads of the warriors. Nobody paid them much attention except for one guy Magnus accidentally kicked in the face. Other Valkyries were also zipping around – some escorting warriors, some carrying platters of food and pitchers of drink. 

They headed towards what was obviously the head table – where the home team would’ve sat if this were a Celtics game. A dozen grim-looking dudes were taking their seats in front of golden plates and jewel-encrusted goblets. In the place of honour stood an empty wooden throne with a high back, where two ravens perched, grooming their feathers. Gunilla landed us at the table to the left. 

It was empty. “Just us today?”

She nodded, “That means more pressure for you but don’t worry, you’ll do fine. You see the table at the top?” She pointed it out, “That’s the table of the Thanes. Normally I’d be sitting there but today I’ve got you,” she grinned down at Magnus, showing far more teeth than Helgi, “Which means I lose my vote as to whether you are worthy - but it’ll most likely be unanimous in our favour.

“Who are the oth-” The foghorn he’d heard earlier echoed through the hall, cutting him off. This time he could see the source. Near the base of the tree, two guys held a black-and-white animal horn the size of a canoe while a third guy blew into it. 

Thousands of warriors took their seats. He decided not to ask. He sat at the end of the table next to Gunilla. Meanwhile, hundreds of Valkyries flew around the room, distributing food and drink. Whenever a Valkyrie’s pitcher was empty, she would swoop over the golden vat now bubbling over a large fire, fill her pitcher with yummy goat’s-milk mead and continue serving. 

The main course came from a roasting pit at the other end of the room. Rotating on a hundred-foot-long spit was the carcass of an animal. He wasn’t sure what it had been when it was alive, but it was easily the size of a blue whale. A Valkyrie flew past, depositing a platter of food and a goblet in front of him. Magnus couldn’t tell what the slices of meat were, but they smelled great, drizzled in gravy with potatoes on the side and thick slices of bread with butter. 

It had been a while since he’d had a hot meal, but he still hesitated. "What kind of animal am I eating?" Gunilla wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. 

"It’s named Saehrimnir." 

"Okay, first of all, who names their dinner? I don’t want to know my dinner’s name. This potato – is this potato named Steve?" She rolled her eyes. 

"No, stupid. That’s Phil. The bread is Steve." Magnus stared at her. "Kidding," she said. 

"Saehrimnir is the magical beast of Valhalla. Every day they kill it and cook it for dinner. Every morning it’s resurrected alive and well." 

"That must suck for the animal. But is it like a cow or a pig or –" 

"It’s whatever you want it to be. My portion is beef. Different sections of the animal are chicken or pork. It depends on what people want.” 

"What if I’m a vegetarian? What if I want falafel?"

"Well, if you want falafel, just ask for the left flank. That part is tofu and bean curd. They can spice it to taste like just about anything." 

"You have a magic animal whose left flank is made of tofu." 

"This is Valhalla, paradise for warriors in the service of Odin. Your food will taste perfect, whatever you choose." 

His stomach was getting impatient, so he dug in. The barbecue had just the right mix of spicy and sweet. The bread was like a warm cloud with a buttery crust. Even Phil the potato tasted great. 

Not being a huge fan of free-range goat’s milk, he was reluctant to try the mead, but the stuff in his goblet looked more like sparkling cider. He took a sip. Sweet, but not too sweet. Cold and smooth, with undercurrents he couldn’t quite identify. Was that blackberry? Or honey? Or vanilla? He drained his glass. 

Suddenly his senses were on fire. It wasn’t like alcohol (he’d tried alcohol before, thrown up, tried alcohol again, thrown up). The mead didn’t make him giddy, dopey or nauseous. It was more like iced espresso without the bitter taste. 

It woke him up, filling him with a warm sense of confidence, but with no edginess or racing heartbeat. "This stuff is good," he admitted. A Valkyrie swooped in, refilled my cup and flew away. He glanced at Gunilla, who was brushing breadcrumbs off her hair. 

"Do you ever do serving duty?" 

“Before I became a thane and captain, I did.”

"How many Valkyries are there?" 

"Several thousand" 

"How many einherjar?" 

Gunilla puffed her cheeks. "Tens of thousands? Like I said, this is just the first dinner. There are two other shifts for the older warriors. Valhalla has five hundred and forty doors. Each one is supposed to accommodate eight hundred warriors exiting for battle at once. That would mean four hundred and thirty two thousand einherjar." 

"That’s a lot of tofu." She shrugged. 

"Personally, I think the number is exaggerated, but only Odin knows for sure. We’ll need a big army when Ragnarok rolls around." 

"Ragnarok," he said. 

"Doomsday," Gunilla said. "When the Nine Worlds are destroyed in a great conflagration and the armies of gods and giants meet in battle for the last time." 

"Oh. That Ragnarok." He scanned the sea of teenaged fighters. Magnus remembered his first time at Black Friday Sales. Fortunately, this seemed to be a bit calmer.

He pointed at the Thanes, “Who’s who over there? And who’s the throne for?”

“All the Thanes are invited to sit at Odin’s table. It’s a huge honour-”

“Is that who the throne is for then? Odin?”

“Yes. He … well, it’s been a while since he’s shown up for dinner, but his ravens watch everything and report back to him.”

Gunilla pointed to the right of the throne. "There’s Erik Bloodax. And that’s Erik the Red.”

‘A lot of Eriks." 

"There’s Leif Erikson." 

"Whoa … but he’s not wearing a metal bra." 

"What?” Gunilla looked baffled before deciding to ignore that and continue, “Over there is Snorri. Then my seat. Then Lord Nelson and Davy Crockett." 

"Davy … wait, seriously?" 

"At the end is Helgi the hotel manager. You’ve met him." Helgi seemed to be having a good time, laughing with Davy Crockett and chugging mead. Behind his chair, the bellhop Hunding stood looking miserable, carefully peeling grapes and handing them to Helgi one at a time. 

"What’s the deal with the manager and Hunding?”

Gunilla made a sour face. "Ancestral feud when they were alive. When they died, both made it to Valhalla, but Odin honoured Helgi more. He put Helgi in charge of the hotel. Helgi’s first order was that his enemy Hunding would be his servant and do his menial tasks for all time." 

"That doesn’t seem like much of a paradise for Hunding." 

Gunilla looked like she was about to talk but then at the high table, the thanes began banging their cups on the table in unison. All around the hall, the einherjar joined in until the Hall of the Slain thundered with a metal heartbeat. Helgi stood and raised his goblet. The noise died down. "Warriors!" The manager’s voice filled the hall. He looked so regal it was hard to believe he was the same guy who a few hours ago had offered Magnus a suite upgrade and a minibar key. 

"Just one new fallen has joined us today! And! We also have a special treat for you. Thanks to Valkyrie Captain Gunilla, today, for the first time, we will not just hear about our newcomer’s worthy deeds, we will be able to see it!" 

"Let the presentation of the dead commence!" Helgi bellowed. Ten thousand warriors turned and looked expectantly in his direction. 

"As many of you know, Captain Gunilla has been phasing in new equipment over the past few months. She’s been fitting her Valkyries’ armour with cameras to keep everyone accountable – and hopefully to keep us entertained!" said Helgi

The warriors cheered and banged their mugs, drowning out the sound of Gunilla cursing next to him. Helgi raised his goblet. "I present to you, Valkyrie Vision!" Around the tree trunk, a ring of giant holographic screens flickered to life, floating in mid-air. 

"Magnus Chase!" he bellowed. "Rise and impress us with your courage!”

The reception of Magnus’ death tape was what he might’ve expected from a bunch of dead Vikings: Loud and apparently interactive. 

They all cheered when he killed the monsters and when he chose to run from the safety of the camp border. But when he died - they quietened. 

At this point, he was standing at the front with Gunilla. And by “with Gunilla” he meant he was cowering behind her. In his defence, this was terrifying. 

The Thanes were whispering amongst themselves at this point, mostly nodding, apart from Lord Nelson who thought a stick didn’t count as a weapon. Eventually they came to an agreement because Helgi banged his goblet on the table, “We declare Magnus Chase worthy of Valhalla.” 

Cheers. 

There were so many cheers. 

And Helgi looked like he was wiping something from his eye, “You have proven yourself by sacrificing yourself to save your friends, albeit one of them in vain, the use of Alf Sedir was very impressive too. Do you know your parentage, child?”

“I don’t know who my father is,” the mead must have been working wonders because Magnus certainly didn’t feel like he could’ve spoken that loudly, and yet, over the shouts and clatter, he was heard perfectly.

Helgi nodded. "That is not uncommon. We will seek wisdom from the runes, unless the All-Father wishes to intercede." 

Everyone turned towards the unoccupied throne. The ravens ruffled their feathers and squawked. The throne remained empty. Helgi didn’t look surprised, but his shoulders slumped with disappointment. He motioned towards the fire pit. From a cluster of servers and cooks, a lady in a green hooded robe shuffled forward. Her face was hidden in the shadows of her cowl, but, judging from her stooped posture and her gnarled hands, she must have been ancient.

Magnus murmured to Gunilla, "Who’s the Wicked Witch?" 

"A vala. A seer. She can cast spells, read the future and various things like that." The vala approached our table. She stopped in front of Magnus and pulled a leather pouch from the folds of her robe. 

She plucked out a handful of runestones like the dagaz one Magnus had for his door. "And the runes?" He whispered to Gunilla. "What are they for?" 

"They’re the old Viking alphabet," she said, "but each letter also symbolizes something powerful – a god, a type of magic, a force of nature. They’re like the genetic code of the universe. The vala can read the stones to see your fate. The greatest sorcerers, like Odin, don’t even need to use the stones. They can manipulate reality simply by speaking the name of a rune." 

Magnus decided to avoid Odin. He didn’t need his reality manipulated any further. In front of their table, the vala muttered something under her breath. She cast the stones at her feet. They landed on the floor – some face up, some face down. One rune in particular seemed to catch everyone’s attention. The holographic screens projected its image to everyone in the hall. The mark meant nothing to him, but hundreds of warriors shouted with confusion.

ᚠ

“Frey!” Someone shouted.

Gunilla looked pale. “I should’ve realised.  _ Daufi,  _ fuck!” She whisper-shouted. “No aesir demigod could possibly use alf sedir at such a young age, especially with no _training_.”

“Am I in trouble?” Magnus was worried. He doubted they would send him back to being alive - that kind of thing just didn’t happen, and they had been plenty happy with him earlier, but now…

“No, no, no,  _ barn _ , you’re fine. This might just be an issue for me, that’s all. A pretty big issue.”

The Vala raised her hands, “Magnus, son of Frey, rejoice, the runes bear a bountiful future for you and you shall fight well at Ragnarok before being slain by Surt himself.”

To Magnus’ relief, this seemed to pacify everyone else, judging by their cheers. He didn’t feel much like celebrating though, completely exhausted by everything that happened, and fell asleep at Gunilla’s side. 


	2. dying... again... yay

When Magnus woke, he definitely wasn’t in the Hall of the Slain any more. Instead, he found himself back in his room, wrapped securely in his duvet. He attempted to recall the events of the previous night but he was still half asleep and all he could remember was a weird goat. 

Then it came back to him:  _ hotel, dead, Valhalla, Vala, feast, Thalia, Annabeth, Luke, Camp, Frey, Norse Gods, Gunilla _ . He supposed that it must’ve been her who put him to bed. In all fairness, he had had a hell of a day and that had probably been the first time in weeks since he had had a proper night’s rest.

He had been killed close to dawn, like 6am or something. For some reason, though, there must’ve been a delay between him getting from New York to Boston, because he arrived at the Hotel at about 12pm, which was six hours later. Maybe the commute took forever?

Regardless, he was awake now, and he was hungry. 

Over by the entrance, a piece of paper slid under his door. He sat up groggily. Maybe the management was giving him the bill and letting him check out. 

He staggered towards the door. His hand trembled as he picked up the paper, but it wasn’t a bill. It was a handwritten note in really nice cursive: 

Hi, neighbour. Join us in lounge 19 for breakfast. Down the hall to the left. Bring your weapons and armour. 

T.J. 

T.J.… Thomas Jefferson Jr, the guy across the hall. That was nice of him. He didn’t understand why he needed weapons and armour, though. Maybe Viking bagels fought back. 

Magnus was tempted to barricade his door and hide in his room. Perhaps everyone would leave him alone. Maybe, once all the warriors were busy with their Bikram yoga to the death, he could sneak out and find an exit to Boston. Reunite with his mom, say hi to Annabeth and Luke, probably apologise to Fredrick for running away. 

On the other hand, he wanted something new. Safe. Friendly. And while Magnus wouldn’t go as far as to call Valhalla safe, especially after seeing how they treated their monopoly players, at least this guy T.J. seemed friendly. He could hang with him for a while and see what he could tell him. 

Magnus trudged to the bathroom. He was afraid the toilet would be some Viking death machine with axe blades and a flush-operated crossbow, but it worked like a normal one. It definitely wasn’t any scarier than the public restrooms in the Common. 

The medicine cabinet was stocked with all his usual toiletries … or at least the toiletries he used to like when he had a home. And the shower … he tried to remember the last time he’d had a leisurely hot shower. May Castellan’s place, he thought. Nice lady, bit nuts, kinda scary. Terrible at baking. 

Sure, he’d arrived in Valhalla feeling magically dry-cleaned, but, after a bad night’s sleep, he was ready for a good old-fashioned scrub down. 

Magnus peeled off his layers of shirts and almost screamed. What was wrong with his chest? Why did his arms look that way? What were those weird bulgy areas? 

Usually he avoided looking at his reflection. He wasn’t somebody he wanted to see on a regular basis. But now Magnus faced the mirror. His hair was the same, a bit less grimy and tangled, but still hanging to his jawline in a curtain of dirty blond, parted in the middle. 

“You look like Kurt Cobain”, his mom used to tease him. “I loved Kurt Cobain, except for the fact that he died.” Well, guess what, Mom? He thought. I have that in common with him, too, now! 

Did his mom even know? Did Annabeth find a way to tell her? Or did they all still think he was missing? He wouldn’t make Annabeth tell his mom was dead for anything but who else could do it and be taken credibly? His mom didn’t know Luke or Grover. It just wouldn’t work. 

His eyes were grey – more like his cousin Annabeth’s than his mom’s. They had a haunted, scary emptiness to them, but that was normal. The look had served him well on the streets. So did the scary teenagers with weapons, of course. He hadn’t quite mastered a death stare but Thalia Grace certainly had. He was quite convinced she would’ve been able to stare down a hellhound and make it cower away with the right level of preparation. 

His upper body, however, he hardly recognized. He’d always been on the scrawny side. Even with all the hiking and camping, he’d had a concave chest, sticking out ribs and skin so pale you could trace the road map of blue veins. Now … those strange new bulgy areas looked suspiciously like muscles. 

Don’t be mistaken. It wasn’t as dramatic as turning into Captain America. He was still lean and pale, but his arms had definition (honestly a bit weird considering apart from his muscles, he still looked like he was six). His chest didn’t look like it would collapse in the next strong wind. His skin was smoother, less translucent. All the rashes and nicks and bites that came from living on the street had disappeared. Even the scar on his left palm, where he’d cut myself on his hunting knife at age five, had vanished.

Magnus remembered how strong he’d felt when he first arrived at Valhalla, how he’d tossed his sofa across the room last night. He hadn’t really stopped to think about it. 

What had Hunding called Valhalla … an upgrade? 

He made a fist. He wasn’t sure what came over him. But when he realized that even his body wasn’t his own, the anger, fear and uncertainty of the last twenty-four hours reached critical mass. He’d been plucked out of his life. He’d been threatened, humiliated and forcibly upgraded. 

He hadn’t asked for a suite. He hadn’t asked for biceps. 

Magnus hit the wall. Literally. His fist went straight through the tile, the plasterboard and a two-by-four stud. He pulled out his hand and wriggled his fingers. Nothing felt broken. He regarded the fist-shaped hole he’d made above the towel rail. 

“Yep," he grumbled. "Housekeeping loves me." 

The shower helped calm him down. Afterwards, wrapped in a fluffy HV-embroidered bathrobe, he padded to the closet to search for clothes. Inside were three sets of blue jeans, three green T-shirts (all marked PROPERTY OF HOTEL VALHALLA), underwear, socks, a pair of good running shoes and a sheathed sword. 

Leaning against the ironing board was a circular green shield with the golden rune of Frey painted in the middle. Okay, then. He knew what he was wearing today. 

He spent ten minutes trying to figure out how to position the sword’s sheath on his belt. He was left-handed. Did that mean the sword went on the right? Were left-handed swords different from right-handed ones? 

He attempted to draw the blade and just about ripped his jeans off. Oh, yeah, he was going to be a hit on the battlefield. 

He practised swinging the sword. He’d never really used a sword before, Thalia had a spear, he and Annabeth: knives and Luke’s was too big for Magnus to lift. 

He managed to sheathe it without losing any fingers and slung the shield across his back, the way the warriors at dinner last night had been wearing theirs. The strap dug into his neck and made him want to gag. He looked in the mirror again. 

“You, sir,” he muttered, “look like a huge dork.” His reflection did not argue. 

Magnus went out to find breakfast and kill it with his sword.

"There he is." T.J. rose and grabbed my hand. "Sit. Join us. You made quite a first impression last night!" 

He was dressed the same as yesterday: a blue wool army jacket over a green hotel T-shirt, jeans and leather boots. With him sat the redhead Mallory Keen and Halfborn Gunderson, a guy who looked like Robinson Crusoe on steroids. His shirt was a patchwork of animal pelts. His hide trousers were in tatters. 

Even by Viking standards his beard was wild, decorated with most of a cheese omelette. His four hallmates made room for me at the table, which felt pretty good. Compared to the main feast hall, lounge nineteen was downright intimate. 

Scattered around the room were a dozen tables, most unoccupied. In one corner, a fireplace crackled in front of a beat-up sofa. Along the other wall, a buffet table was laden with every kind of breakfast food imaginable (and a few kinds he had never imagined). 

T.J. and company had parked themselves in front of a big picture window overlooking a vast field of ice and swirling snow. It made no sense, considering that it was summer in his atrium right down the hall, but he’d already learned that the hotel’s geography was wack. 

"That’s Niflheim," T.J. explained, "the realm of ice. The view changes daily, cycling through the Nine Worlds." 

"The Nine Worlds …" Magnus stared at his scrambled eggs, wondering which solar system they’d come from. "I keep hearing about nine worlds. Hard to believe." Mallory Keen blew icing sugar off her doughnut. 

"Believe it, newbie. I’ve visited six of them so far." 

"Five here." Halfborn grinned, showing Magnus the rest of his cheese omelette. "Course, Midgard hardly counts. That’s the human world. Been to Alfheim, Nidavellir, Jotunheim –" 

T.J. pushed his empty plate away. "Magnus, I don’t know if it helps, but the Nine Worlds aren’t really separate planets. They’re more like … different dimensions, different layers of reality, all connected by the World Tree." 

"Thanks," he said. "That’s much more confusing." 

He laughed. "Yeah, I guess it is." 

"The World Tree is the tree in the feast hall?" 

"Nah," Mallory said. "The World Tree is much bigger. You’ll see, sooner or later." That sounded ominous. He tried to concentrate on my food, but it was difficult with all the thoughts in his head. 

He pointed at T.J.’s jacket. "That’s a Civil War uniform?" 

"Private in the Fifty-fourth Massachusetts, my friend. I’m a Boston boy, same as you. I just got here a little earlier." 

He did the calculations. "You died in battle a hundred and fifty years ago?" 

T.J. beamed. "The assault on Fort Wagner, South Carolina. My dad was Tyr, god of courage, law, and trial by combat. My mom was a runaway slave." 

He tried to fit that into his new world view: a teenager from the 1860s, the son of a former slave and a Norse god, who was now having breakfast with him in an extra-dimensional hotel. 

T.J. continued, “When I got here in 1863, I wasn’t exactly welcomed with open arms, either." 

Mallory rolled her eyes. "Then you won them over with your dazzling personality. I swear, you l swear, you lot are giving floor nineteen a bad name. And now we have Magnus, a literal child." Mallory reminded him a lot of Thalia: mouthy, loud, angry...

Halfborn leaned towards him. "Don’t mind Mallory. She’s a sweetheart, once you get past the fact that she’s a horrible person." 

"Shut up, Halfborn." 

The big guy chuckled. "She’s just grumpy because she died trying to disarm a car bomb with her face." 

Mallory’s ears turned as red as hummingbird nectar. "I didn’t – it wasn’t – Argh!" 

"Magnus, don’t worry about that mess last night," continued Halfborn. "Folks will forget about it in a few decades. Believe me, I’ve seen it all. I died during the Viking invasion of East Anglia, fought under the banner of Ivar the Boneless. I took twenty arrows in the chest protecting my thane!" 

"Ouch,’ he said. 

Halfborn shrugged. "I’ve been here for … oh, going on twelve hundred years now." 

Magnus stared at him. Despite his bulk and his beard, Halfborn looked maybe eighteen, tops. "How do you stand it without going crazy? And why do they call you Halfborn?" 

His smile faded. "Second question first … when I was born, I was so big, strong and ugly that my mother said I looked like I’d been half born, half carved from rock. The name stuck." 

"And you’re still ugly," Mallory muttered. 

"As for how to avoid going crazy here … Some do lose it, Magnus. Waiting for Ragnarok is hard. The trick is to keep busy. There’s plenty to do here. Me, I’ve learned a dozen languages, including English. I earned a doctorate in Germanic literature, and I learned to knit." 

T.J. nodded. "That’s why I invited you to breakfast, Magnus." 

"To learn knitting?" 

"To keep active! Spending too much time alone in your room can be dangerous. If you isolate yourself, you start to fade. Some of the old-timers …" He cleared his throat. "It doesn’t matter. You’re here! Just keep showing up every morning until Doomsday, and you’ll be fine." 

Magnus stared out of the window at the swirling snow. He thought about his friends, his cousin, his mom, "You said you’ve visited the other worlds. That means you can leave the hotel." 

The group exchanged uneasy glances. "Yes," Halfborn said. "But our main job is to wait for Ragnarok. Train, train, train." 

"Occasionally," said T.J., "Einherjar are sent into the Nine Worlds on missions." 

"Tracking down monsters," Mallory offered. "Killing giants who cross into Midgard. Stopping witches and wights. And, of course, dealing with rogues –" 

"Wights? Rogues?" he asked. 

"Point is," said Halfborn, "we only leave Valhalla under orders from Odin or the Thanes." 

"But, hypothetically," he said, "I could go back to earth, Midgard, whatever –" 

"Hypothetically, yes," T.J. said. "Look, I know that dying is hard, especially as young as you are. How old are you again?”

“Six,” muttered Magnus, picking at his eggs.

“Right, so you’re leaving a lot behind, I’d imagine, but let’s not do anything foolish or stupid. Not just yet anyway.”

"Gods forbid," said Mallory. "We never do anything stupid. Like that late-night pizza run to Santarpio’s. That never happened." 

"Shut up, woman," Halfborn growled. 

"Woman?" Mallory reached for the knife at her belt. "Watch your words, you overgrown Swedish hamster." 

"Hold on," he said. "You guys know how to sneak out of –" 

T.J. coughed loudly. "Sorry, I didn’t hear that. I’m sure you weren’t asking about anything against the rules. Magnus, first of all: if you returned to Midgard so soon, how would you explain it to those who knew you? Everyone thinks you’re dead. Usually, if we go back, we wait until everyone we knew is dead. It’s easier all the way around. Besides, it takes a while, sometimes years, for your einherji strength to develop fully." 

Magnus tried to imagine waiting here for years. He didn’t have many friends or relatives to go back to. Still, he didn’t want to be stuck here – learning new languages, knitting sweaters – for ages. He wanted to see the tree, at least once, to prove to himself it happened or whatever. Annabeth would call that closure. Who knows. 

He also wanted to see her again. And Luke. They had been such a good family. He never felt safer than when Luke was on guard or as happy when Thalia was making a dumb joke about whatever monster that they had just encountered. 

And his mom. He definitely wanted to see her again. He missed her and her upbeat personality and jokes, bad cooking, everything about her really. 

"But it’s possible to leave without permission," he persisted. "Maybe not forever, just for a while." 

T.J. shifted uncomfortably. "Valhalla has doors into every world. The hotel is designed that way. Most exits are guarded, but … well, there are a lot of ways to Boston, since Boston is the centre of Midgard." he glanced around the table. Nobody was laughing. 

"It is?" 

"Sure," T.J. said. "It’s right at the trunk of the World Tree, the easiest spot from which to access the other worlds. Why do you think Boston is called the Hub of the Universe?" 

"Wishful thinking?" 

"No. Mortals have always known there was something about that location, even if they couldn’t put their finger on what it was. The Vikings searched for the centre of the world for years. They knew the entrance to Asgard was in the west. That’s one reason they kept exploring into North America. When they met the Native Americans –" 

"We called them the skraelings," Halfborn said. "Vicious fighters. I liked them." 

"– the natives had all sorts of stories about how strong the spirit world was in this area. Later, when the Puritans settled, well … John Winthrop’s vision of a shining “City on a Hill”? That wasn’t just a metaphor. He had a vision of Asgard, a glimpse into the other worlds. And the Salem witch trials? Hysteria caused by magic seeping into Midgard. Edgar Allan Poe was born in Boston. It’s no accident his most famous poem was about a raven, one of Odin’s sacred animals." 

"Enough." Mallory gave Magnus a disgusted look. "T.J. will take forever when answering a yes/no question. The answer is yes, Magnus. It is possible to leave, with or without permission." 

Halfborn burped, permeating the very air with his breakfast. That guy, for all his qualifications or fluency in various languages, was disgusting. "You would not be immortal." 

"Yeah," T.J. said. "That’s the second big problem. In Valhalla, you can’t die – not permanently. You’ll just keep getting resurrected. It’s part of the training." 

He remembered the guy who had got impaled in the lobby and dragged off by wolves. Hunding had said he would be fine again by dinner. 

"But outside of Valhalla?" 

"Out in the Nine Worlds," T.J. said, "you’re still an einherji. You’re faster and stronger and tougher than any regular mortal. But if you die out there you stay dead. Your soul might go to Helheim. Or you might simply dissolve into the primordial void – Ginnungagap. Hard to know. It’s not worth the risk. It’s your first day," T.J. said. "Let’s not go into that. You’re already freaked out enough." 

"Freak me out more," Magnus said. “Where’s a hypothetical exit?” 

In the hallway, a horn blasted. At the other tables, einherjar started to get up and clear their plates. Halfborn rubbed his hands eagerly. "Talking will have to wait. It’s battle time!" 

T.J. grimaced. "Magnus, we should probably warn you about the first-day initiation. Don’t be discouraged if –" 

"Oh, shush," said Mallory. "Don’t spoil the surprise!" She gave Magnus an icing-sugar smile. "I don’t care if he’s basically a baby, I can’t wait to see the new boy get dismembered!

He told his new friends he was allergic to dismemberment. They just laughed and herded him towards the combat arena. This was why he didn't like making new friends. 

The battlefield was so huge he couldn’t process what he was seeing. Back in the good old days when he hiked with his mom, they would sometimes sleep under the stars and in the morning he could see for miles across New Hampshire. Valhalla’s battlefield was bigger than that. 

It offered maybe three square miles of interesting places to die, all contained within the hotel like an interior courtyard. On all four sides rose the walls of the building – cliffs of white marble and gold-railed balconies, some hung with banners, some decorated with shields, some fitted with catapults. 

The upper floors seemed to dissolve in the hazy glow of the sky, as blank white as a fluorescent light. In the centre of the field loomed a few craggy hills. Clumps of forest marbled the landscape. The outer rim was mostly rolling pastures, with a river as wide as the Charles snaking through. 

Several villages dotted the riverbank, maybe for those who preferred their warfare urban. From hundreds of doors in the walls around the field, battalions of warriors were streaming in, their weapons and armour glinting in the harsh light. 

Some einherjar wore full plate mail like medieval knights. Others wore chain-mail shirts, breeches and combat boots. A few sported camo fatigues and AK-47s. One guy wore nothing but a pair of Speedos. He’d painted himself blue and was armed only with a baseball bat. Across his chest were the words COME AT ME, BRO. 

"I feel underdressed," Magnus said. 

Halfborn Gunderson was also taking the minimalist approach. He’d stripped down to nothing but his leggings, though he did sport a pair of vicious-looking double-bladed axes.

T.J. fastened his bayonet to his rifle. "Magnus, if you want more than the basic equipment, you’ll have to capture it or trade for it. The hotel armouries take red gold, or they work on a barter system." 

"Is that how you got your rifle?" 

"Nah, this is the weapon I died with. I hardly ever fire it. Bullets don’t have much effect on einherjar. Those guys out there with the assault rifles? That’s all flash and noise. They’re the least dangerous people on the field. But this bayonet? It’s bone steel, a gift from my father. Bone steel works just fine." 

"Bone steel." 

"Yeah. You’ll learn." 

His sword hand was already sweating. His shield felt much too flimsy. "So which groups are we fighting against?" 

Halfborn clapped him on the back. "All of them! Vikings fight in small groups, my friend. We are your shield brothers." 

"And shield sister," Mallory said. "Though some of us are shield idiots." 

Halfborn ignored her. "Stick with us, Magnus, and … well, you won’t do fine. You’ll get killed quickly. But stick with us anyway. We’ll wade into battle and slaughter as many as possible!" 

"That’s your plan?" 

Halfborn tilted his head. "Why would I have a plan?" 

"Oh, sometimes we do," said T.J. "Wednesdays are siege warfare. That’s more complicated. Thursdays they bring out the dragons." 

Mallory drew her sword and serrated dagger. "Today is free-for-all combat. I love Tuesdays." Looking at her dagger made Magnus miss his. Of all ways to go, through two furies was amazing but it was one of the only things he kept with him in the end and he missed it. Maybe Annabeth had found it at this point and kept it. Or given it to someone to help them. He hoped so. 

From a thousand different balconies, horns blasted. The einherjar charged into battle. Until that morning, he’d never understood the term bloodbath. Within a few minutes, they were literally slipping in the stuff. They’d just stepped onto the field when an axe flew out of nowhere and stuck in his shield, the blade going right through the wood above his arm. 

Mallory yelled and threw her knife, which sank into the axe thrower’s chest. He fell to his knees, laughing. "Good one!" Then he collapsed, dead. 

Halfborn waded through enemies, his axes whirling, chopping off heads and limbs until he looked like he’d been playing paintball with only red paint. It was disgusting. And horrifying. 

And the most disturbing part? The einherjar treated it like a game. They killed with glee. They died as if someone had just taken down their avatar in Call of Duty. Magnus had never liked that game. 

"Ah, that sucks," one guy muttered as he studied the four arrows in his chest. 

Another yelled, "I’ll get you tomorrow, Trixie!" before falling sideways, a spear stuck through his gut. 

T.J. sang ‘The Battle Hymn of the Republic’ while he stabbed and parried with his bayonet. 

As for Magnus, he shuffled along in abject terror, his shield raised, his sword dragging, trying to be so small that he’d go unnoticed. Of course, being less than three foot ten helped with that. He’d been told that death here wasn’t permanent, but had a hard time believing it. A bunch of warriors with sharp, pointy objects were trying to kill him. He didn’t want to be killed. 

Magnus managed to parry a sword strike. He deflected a spear with his shield. He had a clear opening to stab one girl whose guard was too far up, but just couldn’t make himself do it. That was a mistake. Her axe bit into his thigh. Pain flared all the way up to his neck. 

Mallory cut the girl down. "Come on, Chase, keep moving! You’ll get used to the pain after a while." 

"Great." he grimaced. "Something to look forward to." 

T.J. jabbed his bayonet through the faceplate of a medieval knight. "Let’s take that hill!" He pointed to a nearby ridge at the edge of the woods. 

“Why?" yelled Magnus. 

"Because it’s a hill!" 

"He loves taking hills," Mallory grumbled. "It’s a Civil War thing." They waded through the battle, heading for the high ground. His thigh still hurt, but the bleeding had stopped. That definitely wasn’t normal; he’d been bitten by a hellhound once and it hadn’t hurt nearly as little as this.

T.J. raised his rifle. He yelled "Charge!" just as a javelin ran him through from behind. 

"T.J!" Magnus yelled. He caught his eye, managed a weak smile, then face-planted in the mud. 

"For Frigg’s sake!" Mallory cursed. "Come on, newbie." She lifted him off the ground, into a fireman’s hold. More javelins sailed over their heads. 

"Put me down! You guys do this every day?" He demanded. 

"No. Like we told you – Thursdays are dragons." 

"But –" 

"Hey, Beantown, the whole point is to get used to the horrors of battle. You think this is bad? Wait until we actually have to fight at Ragnarok." 

"Why am I Beantown? T.J.’s from Boston. Why isn’t he Beantown?" 

"Because T.J. is slightly less annoying." They reached the edge of the woods. Halfborn guarded their backs, slowing down the pursuing horde. 

And the enemies were a horde now. All the scattered groups within sight had stopped fighting one another and were after them. Some pointed at Magnus. Some called his name, and not in a friendly way. 

"Yeah, they’ve spotted you." Mallory sighed. "When I said I wanted to see you eviscerated, I didn’t mean I wanted to be right with you. Oh, well." 

He almost asked why everyone was after him. But he got it. He was a newbie. Of course the other einherjar would gang up on him. The veteran einherjar would make this as painful and terrifying for him as possible to see how he handled himself. That made him angry. 

They climbed the hill, weaving from tree to tree for cover. Halfborn threw himself into a group of twenty guys who were following them. He destroyed them all. He came up laughing, an insane light in his eyes. He was bleeding from a dozen wounds. A dagger stuck out of his chest, right over his heart. 

"How is he not dead yet?" Magnus asked. 

"He’s a berserker." Mallory glanced back, her expression a mix of disdain and exasperation and something else … admiration? "That idiot will keep fighting until he is literally hacked to pieces."

Something clicked in his head. Mallory liked Halfborn. You don’t call somebody an idiot that many times unless you’re really into them. Under different circumstances, he might have teased her, but while she was distracted there was a wet thwack. An arrow sprouted from her neck. She scowled at him as if to say, Totally your fault.

She collapsed, finally dropping Magnus who knelt at her side, putting his hand on her neck. He could feel the life seeping out of her. He could sense the severed artery, the fading heartbeat, all the damage that had to be mended. It reminded him of - of- Whatever, no one who died here would die for real, Right? It wasn’t like Half Blood Hill 

"Look out!" shouted Halfborn. Magnus raised his shield. A sword clanged against it. He pushed back, knocking the attacker downhill. His arms ached. His head was throbbing, but somehow he got to his feet. Halfborn was forty yards away, surrounded by a mob of warriors all jabbing him with spears, shooting him full of arrows. Somehow he kept fighting, but even he wouldn’t be able to stand much longer. 

"Go, Magnus Beantown," said the berserker. "Take the crest for floor nineteen!" 

"My nickname will not be Beantown," he muttered. "I refuse." He stumbled uphill until he reached the summit and put his back against a big oak tree while Halfborn continued to nearly die.

An arrow hit his shoulder, pinning him to the tree. The pain almost made him black out, but he snapped the shaft and pulled himself free. The bleeding stopped instantly. He felt the wound begin to heal. It was probably glowing at this point. (That had honestly been a bit of an issue when he ran away - it was hardly subtle, but on the flipside, he did work as a cheap torch.)

A shadow passed over him – something large and dark hurtling from the sky. It took him a millisecond to realize it was a boulder, probably shot from a balcony catapult. It took him another millisecond to realize where it would land. 

Too late. Before he could shout a warning to Halfborn, the berserker and a dozen other einherjar disappeared under a twenty-ton chunk of limestone, the side of which was painted: WITH LOVE FROM FLOOR 63. A hundred warriors stared at the rock. Leaves and broken twigs fluttered around them. 

Then the einherjar all turned towards him. Another arrow hit him in the chest. He screamed, more in rage than in pain, and pulled it out. 

"Wow," one of the Vikings commented. "He’s a fast healer." 

"Try a spear," someone suggested. "Try two spears." They spoke as if he wasn’t worth addressing – as if he was a cornered animal they could experiment with. Twenty or thirty einherjar raised their weapons. 

The anger inside him exploded. 

Magnus shouted, expelling energy like the shock wave from a bomb. Bowstrings snapped. Swords fell out of their owners’ hands. Spears and guns and axes went flying into the trees. As quickly as it started, the surge of power shut off. All around him, a hundred einherjar had been stripped of their weapons. The blue-painted guy stood in the front row, his baseball bat at his feet. 

He stared at him in shock. "What just happened?" 

The warrior next to him had an eye patch and red leather armour decorated with silver curlicues. Cautiously, he crouched and retrieved his fallen axe. "Alf seidr," said Eye Patch. "Nicely done, son of Frey. I haven’t seen a trick like that in centuries. But bone steel is better." 

Magnus’ eyes crossed as eyepatch’s axe blade spun towards his face. Then everything went dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave a comment it really makes my day.
> 
> I hope you guys liked it!


	3. no daddy issues here! none! none whatsoever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gunilla takes Magnus with her to a meeting in Vanaheim

It was strange for Magnus to sleep in a bed. He hadn’t in so long before he died. It was even stranger when he was shaken awake by his Valkyrie, a strange smirk on her face.

“Gunilla, what’re you doing here?” He croaked out, mouth dry as sandpaper. 

“I have a meeting today and I’m bringing you along to it. It’s in Vanaheim, it’ll be fun!” 

By fun Magnus hoped she didn’t mean they would have to cut off someone’s head or anything but since everything else was to the death, why not meetings too? Then again, wasn’t Vanaheim a different world?”

“Where’s that?”

“It’s one of the nine worlds, the home of the Vanir.”

“Who’re they?”

“Gods of nature and healing and…  _ stuff _ . There’s three main gods, Njord and his children, Frey and Freya.”

“My dad?”

“Yes, barn. I have a meeting with Njord about Jomungandr,” Magnus looked at her questioningly, “I’ll explain later but, go get dressed. I’ll wait in your living room. Be quick.” 

Magnus hopped out of bed and quickly pulled on yet another green t-shirt and jeans. There was a hoodie there today too, monogrammed with property of Hotel Valhalla. He grabbed it too. He rarely got cold but the big pocket would be nice and hoods were fun to pull over his head. 

He shouted into where Gunilla was, “Do I need my sword too?”

“Yes.”

So he took that too and bounded into the living room where Gunilla was lying on one of his recliners, cleaning her fingernails with a penknife. Magnus hadn’t noticed earlier, when she was waking him up but she wasn’t wearing her uniform today or typical Valkyrie armour but instead a pinafore dress over a longer long sleeved tunic. She still had her hammers though, strapped to her sides by a thick leather belt. 

“Good, you’re ready,” she said as she rose from the chair. “We should leave soon or we’ll be late.”

“How are we leaving exactly?”

“Since you’re einherjar, normally you’d have to sign forms to leave but because of my position as Thane and Captain, we can leave without permission and not get in trouble. A little benefit of the job,” she tapped her nose, “All we have to do is take the world tree, which is why I wanted you to bring your sword. It’s also good practice for you to carry it, little one.” 

Magnus supposed she was right but he still didn’t like the big chunk of metal at his side. It was heavy and he could barely use it effectively. Knives were much better. 

“How did your fight go yesterday?” Magnus told her what happened, “Good job surviving that long. I remember I died in the first twenty minutes of my first battle. Next time, don’t be afraid of hurting people in battle. They want to hurt you,” she prodded her finger into Magnus’ chest, literally driving the point in. “you’re short. That gives you an advantage with your height. Use it.”

Magnus nodded meekly, “How do we get anywhere on a tree?”

“Yggdrasil is the tree that holds all the worlds. You can use it to go from one to another, although, it isn’t the safest.”

“And how do we get there?” Gunilla pointed him to his atrium where his trees were, all calming and beautiful. 

“We use one of these,” she grabbed him, slung him on her back and started to climb. Magnus clenched her shoulders, anxious not to fall off. Eventually, she left the trunk for a branch, almost the same size as it and edged along it. The atrium floor was impossible to see now, just as foggy as the Gap. Or maybe it  _ was _ the Gap now? 

Yggdrasil’s trunk was a wall of wood, stretching out in front of them, blocking the entire view. Granted, there wasn’t much of a view but the sheer size of the tree was impressive to say the least. 

“So,” he said, trying not to be jostled too much, “How the hell do we get to another world from here? I don’t get it?”

Unlike his mom, Gunilla never scolded Magnus for swearing. Last night, she had even taught him some new words so she probably didn’t care that he was a child. 

Then again, neither Luke nor Thalia told off Magnus and Annabeth when they swore. It wasn’t like either of them were raised regularly either. They probably barely knew it was bad. 

He felt out with a hand, some kind of instinct guiding him. “So is Vanaheim like sunny and stuff? But also naturey?”

“Yes, that about sums it up.”

“Cause I think we should go down there.” He pointed at a branch where the feeling was coming from. He couldn’t see Gunilla’s face but she felt very still, like she was thinking.

“Yeah, you’re right kid. It’s a weird feeling but I think you’re right.”

She switched branches and continued to crawl along. At this point, Magnus felt like a baby gorilla attached to the back of its mother. Hopefully he would be able to get down soon.

Eventually the branch thinned to such an extent that Gunilla just shouted “Hold on!” and jumped into what might’ve been the abyss. 

Thankfully it wasn’t. They landed in some kind of field in a heap. And by heap, Gunilla was unfortunately on top of Magnus. He was extremely grateful that he was super-strong now because otherwise she might’ve crushed him to death. 

“Sorry kid,” she said, rolling away and standing up. She brushed the grass off her dress and pulled her braids back into place. “Didn’t mean to fall right on top of you there.” 

“It’s okay. Are we here?”

“It looks like it. I need to find a servant of his now. Or Njord himself I suppose.” Magnus had no idea where they would find his grandfather or his servant but thankfully at that moment, a frazzled man in a brown tunic and cape bustled out of the cape. 

He nodded at Gunilla but when his eyes lowered to Magnus, they widened in surprise. Only for a second though. Then he strode towards them, all purposeful like. 

‘Greetings Thane Gunilla. Are you here for Njord?”

“Yes. This is Magnus,” she nudged him forward with her knee. Magnus tried not to blush in embarrassment. “Hi,” he waved weakly. 

The servant bent over to get a good look at him. He had extremely blond hair. “Hello, little prince. My name is Bjorn,”

“Nice to meet you.” Magnus tried to be polite but he was extremely confused.  _ Little Prince? _ Weird. 

Bjorn straightened up. “I will take you to my master now. He’s by the sea, as always. Follow me.” Then he marched across the field. 

Gunilla looked at Magnus for a minute, obviously considering something. Magnus had a bad feeling what it was. 

She picked him up and ran after the servant. 

When they arrived at the beach, there was a man there that reminded Magnus of a lifeguard. He had dark bond hair, like honey, peppered with grey and his skin was golden tanned except for his feet. 

It was odd to say, but the man had amazing feet with soft white skin and perfectly pedicured toes. He was also flexing them about like he was showing them off. 

Just like Bjorn had, he smiled at Gunilla but startled at Magnus. Was he not meant to be here or something? Should Gunilla have not brought him?

Gunilla bowed her head in deference, which Magnus copied, “Lord Njord, thank you for meeting with me. You have beautiful feet, as always.”

“Thank you Thane Gunilla. Who is the boy?”

“This is Magnus Chase, son of Frey.”

“Ah,” said Njord. “Hello Magnus, I am your grandfather.” 

Magnus resisted the urge to make a Star Wars joke, “Hi, Grandpa.” 

Njord put his hand behind his back before taking it out with a knife. “Here, boy, take this.”

It was fairly normal, straight ending in a point, with a wooden leatherbound handle. Magnus removed it from its sheath to reveal a steel blade engraved with runes that he didn’t recognise. 

“Don’t cut off your fingers, barn, and try not to hurt yourself.” Was all that Gunilla said before she started talking to Njord about adult stuff. 

Magnus tried not to listen, he really did, but they were standing so close to him, it would take more effort not to hear them that it would to eavesdrop!

Still, he only heard snippets, “... Jormungandr took… valkyries… of them.” Whatever Jormungandr was or who he was, Magnus didn’t fancy meeting him any time soon. 

The knife was nice, it reminded him of when Luke found his old one for him in a monster den. It had probably belonged to another demigod, one that fell unlucky at the hands of the cyclops which he killed by dropping a lead pipe over its head. Celestial bronze might’ve been the only way to cut a monster but internal damage caused by external maiming could definitely kill one too. 

Luke had been really nice about it too. He gave Magnus the knife, he won the fight and as a treat they got cake with their dinner (stolen). Luke even taught Magnus how to fight with the knife by feinting and trying not to be seen. Apparently his height was good for something at least.

However, when the conversation turned to him, his eyes strained to hear what was being said, “How do you have my grandson with you, Thane Gunilla? How did he die and why is he not with my daughter.” 

“I found him with Greeks on the verge of death but I didn’t realise he was Vanir and it's a bit late now that he’s einherjar.”

“Is it? He doesn’t belong there in Valhalla, he’s a child and always will be now, yes, but that place is not right for him. Not as my son’s child, Frey is the god of peace, for Hela’s sake!”

“I cannot move him or give him to you. You would have to appeal to the whole of the Thanes as well as Odin for that to happen.”

“Very well.”

Then they were turning to look at him so Magnus had to pretend like he wasn’t listening. Twirling the knife around in his hand seemed to do the trick because he wasn’t accused of listening in and Gunilla simply grabbed him. 

He decided just to give in and let himself be picked up. It was probably faster anyway. 

When Gunilla was looking for something so they could get back to the world tree though, he saw a young man approach Njord. He was blond, summery and gave Magnus the same feeling he got when his mom and him hiked somewhere really high. 

They were too far away from the gods to hear what they were saying but he caught one word “... Frey”.

The man was staring right at him, curiosity and surprise on his face. Magnus clutched the knife tightly, knuckles turning white. 

And then they were gone. 

Magnus wasn’t really paying attention on their journey back but the next thing he knew they were falling out a tree in a park in Boston. 

He was quiet on the way back to the hotel, trying to not cry. He wasn’t a baby and he didn’t care about his dad! 

He didn’t even hate him but if his dad was a god, why did he let him die, why didn’t he save him! It wasn’t fair!

Magnus was so distracted, he didn’t even notice Gunilla put him down in the lobby, asking him how he was. He rubbed his eyes till they were red and held back a sniff. 

Gunilla was frowning at him, maybe in concern, maybe at him in general. She was saying something but her voice sounded like she was on the other side of a waterfall and there was a rushing noise in his ears and he couldn’t hear anything except that one name, his grandfather saying, “Frey”.

His father had been there. That was his dad. Who left him to die. Who let him die. How could he do that? 

Magnus didn’t care that his father wasn’t there when he was growing up - him and his mom were fine without him! - but he had powers, powers that could fix stuff and heal and...  _ stop him from dying _ . But he was here. And he was dead. And his father didn’t even care.  _ Father of the year award goes to… anyone other than Frey. _

Even Luke’s father helped them when they were running - he gave them that map to camp and sure, Hermes was a dick but at least he didn’t sit by while his children sacrificed themselves. 

He dug his fingernails into his palms, hands curled into fists of righteous anger, skin splitting into half-moons where the nails broke it. He wanted to hit something. To  _ hurt  _ something. 

Gunilla was still talking to him, crouched in front of him, holding his shoulder when Magnus broke free. He started running, unaware where he was headed, just dodging spears, swords and his fellow einherjar in the hallways. 

Eventually, and he didn’t know how or when, he made it back to his room and collapsed onto the grassy ground in the atrium. He stared up into the branches of the trees, counting the alder and birch leaves that dotted the skyline along with elm and swedish whitebeam. 

There were a few on the ground, probably from the climb from this morning. Magnus picked up a couple and started methodically shredding them. First, a tear down the middle, as close to the vein as possible, then every segment was separated as cleanly as he could do it. 

It was something he used to do as a competition with his mom when they camped. She was better than him, with good nails to help and better motor skills, but he had done it with Thalia, Luke and Annabeth, when they weren’t at the immediate risk of dying, and it turned out that he was better than any of them at it. 

After destroying maybe fifty leaves, there was a knock at the door.

“Hi Magnus, this is Gunilla. Can I come in?”

Magnus wasn’t as upset as he had been before. The anger and fury at his father, at where he was, at pretty much everything, had dissipated. Leaves were good for that. It took up too much of his concentration for him to be thinking about anything else. 

It wasn’t Gunilla’s fault he was here (well, not really). Sure, she brought him, but she was just doing her job, like a shop assistant or a doctor or a vet would. Him dying wasn’t her fault. She could do nothing about it. There was no point taking his anger out on her. He could do that to his dad later.

“Sure,” he croaked out, voice sore from holding back tears, and the door opened.

Gunilla walked towards him carefully, like he was a wild animal she didn’t want to frighten away. “What happened, Magnus?”

Magnus took a shuddering breath and hoped he wouldn’t start bawling, “Back in Vanaheim, when we were leaving, I saw - I saw - my dad.” 

"You saw him?" Gunilla’s eyes softened. She looked older than eighteen, more like eighty. She cleared her throat, “You know, I’ve only met my dad a couple of times, but the first time, well, it was weird. I wasn’t a valkyrie then, just einherjar, but I had done a really big mission for Odin and he came to congratulate me. That’s how I got my necklace,” she touched the gold hammer at the base of her throat, “He wasn’t an ideal dad and when I grew up - there were plenty of kids without fathers but being a bastard? That was shameful. I was angry at him for never being there, not helping me, letting me die. But I also idealised him when I was in Valhalla. He was one of the most popular gods and I was proud of that. Nothing like what they say in the films and stories though. He’s a big muscle bound ball of flatulence and TV addiction. When I met him, TV wasn’t a thing. It was about… 1732, I think, but he loved all these bad stories and novels. Lives for the drama of everything. Along with explosions and stuff. His goats were odd too.”

“Goats?”

“Marvin and Otis are my father’s goats. They pull his chariot and he eats them every night and resurrects them in the morning. I’m pretty sure they have different names but Marvin and Otis are far easier to remember.”

“They’re okay with being eaten? Every day?”

“Like I said, odd. There is an old story where someone ate with my father but broke one of their bones and it resurrected broken. He was really pissed about that.”

“Woah.” Somehow, hearing about Gunilla’s father made Magnus feel better about his. At least, even if Frey was a bad dad, he wasn’t alone in the daddy issues club. 

“What do you want to do now? I’m free until dinner.” 

Magnus brought out the knife Njord gave him from his hoodie pocket. “Can you teach me how to fight with this? I don’t know very much.”

Gunilla nodded, “No problem.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update schedule? Who dat?
> 
> So he's got another knife and a nice serving of issues to go with it. Yay. Poor Magnus.
> 
> Please leave a review, it really makes my day.


	4. pizza really brings family together, huh

Magnus had now been in Valhalla for around three weeks or so. In that time he’d been dismembered, crushed, stabbed, shot, beheaded, and killed in about a dozen or so other ways. Honestly, he was not a fan of this whole immortal but you can be killed endlessly thing. 

It hurt! A lot! 

Still, there were nice things about the hotel, like Gunilla, or his room, or the books, or the video games, or the food!

The food was so cool! Still, there was nothing like a good falafel wrap or a nice pizza. Unfortunately, he was the only member of floor nineteen who really liked falafel, but at least all of them could get behind a good pizza. 

However, when he mentioned these thoughts to Gunilla, she told him she’d never had pizza. Mallory had overheard this at the time and demanded that they go get some from a Midgard place. 

So there they were, getting pizza from the human world, less than a month after he’d died. 

It turned out, that Gunilla, being the captain of the Valkyries as well as a thane, could not let them out the front entrance for “appearances purposes” but fortunately, both those things, combined with a few hundred years worth of living in the hotel, meant she knew the back entrances. 

Unfortunately, the most convenient direct exit into Midgard from hall nineteen was also a trash chute. 

Magnus got shoved down first, being the smallest. He hated it, it was too tiny and it smelled really bad, but if it got him pizza that wasn’t from a magic animal, then it would be worth it. 

He tumbled out, rolling away to avoid getting hit by Gunilla or Mallory on their way down. As he stood up, brushing a gross old banana skin off of his shoulder, a stream of Gaelic curses could be heard from the chute, before a certain red-haired einherjar fell out. 

Just like him, she stood up immediately, before Gunilla finally dropped out. Somehow they had both managed to avoid the general grossness of the exit. 

The reality hit him as he glanced around the buildings, he was home, in Midgard, in Boston. He could literally go to his old school less than a mile away or to that falafel place, or his mom’s house.  _ Oh gods his mom _ . 

He hadn’t seen her since she left him at Uncle Frederick’s. She probably knew at this point. And if she didn’t she'd probably assume it at least. No children, no matter how intelligent, made it on their own for that long. 

He felt sick to his stomach. The sooner they got the pizza and left, the better. 

“Beantown,” grunted Mallory, “So where’s this pizza place, huh?”

“Um, we’re like a few blocks away, so this way!” He led them down the streets, carefully sidestepping all the pedestrians who were looking oddly at the teenagers with weapons and their six year old tour guide. 

Thankfully, Magnus found the place. It was kinda busy, as usual, but hey, at least the pizza was good. 

They were waiting in line, Magnus talking animatedly away to Gunilla about  _ Sandman _ , when they got to the top of the queue. Almost a millisecond after Gunilla paid the cashier, the door opened again and three people walked in.

Three people, two men and one woman, all blond. The blonde woman was holding something, like an old blanket. It was kinda funny, really, it looked a lot like his old blanket from when he was younger. 

Looking up, he realised it wasn’t that funny. 

His mom was standing in line with his uncles. He could see Fredrick mention something to his mom and her murmuring a response but then she looked at where he was. At  _ him _ . 

In Magnus’ defence, he panicked. 

He tugged on Gunilla’s sleeve, “We gotta go, Gunilla, my mom’s here.”

“Where?” He pointed to show her. His mom looked like she was about to cry, her mouth silently saying something. 

Gunilla paled. His mom ran towards him, closely flanked by his uncles. She was about to reach him when she was bowled over by 5’6 of red hot Irish rage holding a pizza. 

In the confusion, Magnus was pulled out of the place by Gunilla and flown away, back to the garbage shoot. “Get in here, I’ll go make sure Mallory isn’t arrested.” Magnus did as he was told, fleeing back to his room to hide his tears under his bedclothes. 

About half an hour later, when Magnus was fully dehydrated but not remotely calm, his valkyrie came in the door, holding a slightly bashed (and definitely cold) pizza.

“Want a bit?” She asked, pointing at him with the slice she was eating. Magnus nodded silently and patted the bit of the bed beside him. “We got away pretty easy, I managed to convince the police that Mallory was a rabid raccoon. She is  _ not _ happy with me for saying that but, hey, it worked!”

“My mom. Was that her?”

  
“ _ Ja, barn _ , that was your family there. I didn’t get to talk to them but your mother was distraught. She fought like a demon though, such is parental instinct, I suppose.” 

Magnus curled into Gunilla’s side. He didn’t want to think too much about what he was like pre posthumus  _ stuff _ . It was- it was too much. To have been a normal person, to be expecting to grow up, get a job, married, kids of his own, die, to not ever getting that. Not ever. Just hanging around as a pre pre pre teen until the literal end of the world. It hurt his head to think about it too hard. 

He must’ve fallen asleep at one point because when he came to, his whole floor was there. 

“Hey, kid, heard you had a rough day,” grunted Halfborn as he demolished another pizza. Pineapple.  _ Gross. _

“That’s disgusting, Halfborn.”

“Exactly!” T.J.’s voice could be heard from behind him, “That’s what I’ve been saying!”

“Pineapple is delicious on pizza, none of you have any taste or a sense of culture.”

“You’re wrong. You’re just so, _ so _ wrong.”

“Whatever, we’re not here to discuss my excellent taste in pizza, we’re here to talk about the incident at the pizzeria.” Halfborn belched. “Magnus, it’s perfectly normal to struggle leaving your mortal life behind. We all did it and we all hated it, no matter how cool being einherjar is. I last saw my mother when I was twelve. I died at seventeen but I told her I’d only return to Flåm when I was a hero being sung about by the skalds. I died too young so that never happened and I don’t know what happened to her, even now.”

“Thanks, this is making me feel  _ so  _ much better.”

Halfborn huffed, “My  _ point  _ is, is that we’re here with you. I kinda get how you’re feeling. I mean, not really, not entirely at least but it’s not a foreign land to me, that’s all.” He was probably trying to look comforting and approachable but the mixture of his expression with his beard just made Magnus snicker a bit. 

Someone patted his shoulder, “I met my mom two years after I died. She recognised me but I think she thought she was seeing what she wanted to see. Of course, I was dead and buried, even though lots of soldiers formerly declared dead popped up from time to time, my death, well… let’s just say it was noticeable. I found it really difficult to come to terms with that but you know… I did. Just take your time with it and you’ll get there.”

“Hmmph,” Magnus didn’t want to be rude but he could feel himself drifting off again. 

When he woke up, he went to find Gunilla. He actually ended up killing a couple of people because they didn’t see him (or didn’t care) and tried to step over him but he was getting pretty good with his sword. Even if knives were better. 

Covered in blood, Magnus found Gunilla at the Valkyrie stables with one of the horses. She was stroking its mane, saying stuff to it which he couldn’t really pick up, “... don’t want to… family… he belongs…”

“Hi Gunilla,”

“Magnus! I didn’t see you there. Who did you kill?”

“Some guys trying to step over me.” He muttered a curse. 

“Why’re you looking for me?” 

“I was wondering… if you could come with me when I go see my mom.” Gunilla looked concerned. She came out of the stall and knelt down so she was on the same level as him. 

“Are you sure? This is going to break like a multitude of rules so you can’t tell  _ anyone _ and I mean that but since you’ve already seen her I think it’d be best to at least let you get it out your system or whatever.”

“Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!”

“Shh,” Gunilla covered Magnus’ mouth, “No one can know. Apart from your hallmates maybe but nobody  _ else _ .” Magnus nodded fervently. She removed her hand. 

“Okay, go wash, you don’t want to see your mom for the first time since whenever you did last looking like baby Ted Bundy.”

“Who’s that?”

“Doesn’t matter, now go.”

\---

They reunited at the same trash chute. Thankfully, this time it wasn’t as gross. Magnus was glad he wouldn’t have to ruin his nice hoodie and his hair wasn’t too mussed up thankfully. 

Heart in his throat, he headed to his old apartment. 

He almost ran away before he pressed the apartment buzzer but Gunilla being there kept him steady.

“Hello?”

“Hi, it’s… well… it’s Magnus. Can you let us up?”

The door opened and he trudged through. One time when he started kindergarten, he had punched a kid for pulling his hair. When he had to see the headteacher for this though, he thought he was the most nervous he would ever be in his life. He was wrong. 

The door was open already, his mom and uncles standing around the doorway, like a knockoff 90s Abba, with the scandinavian features and (in Frederick and Randolph’s case) weird clothes. 

He didn’t have time to look at her though because within a millisecond he was clutched to her chest and she was crying so hard his hair was soaking. 

“They said you were dead, they sent me your ashes!”

“Yeah. Mom. I am- I am dead.” She pulled back from the hug and looked at him so skeptically that if he hadn’t lived in Valhalla for over a month, he might’ve questioned whether it was real or not. “It’s to do with my dad. I died in battle holding a weapon and he’s a Norse god-”

“You’re an einherji?” interrupted his Uncle Randolph. “Confirmation at last!  _ Vindication _ !” He might’ve continued if Gunilla wasn’t glaring at him while cracking her knuckles, one by one. “Uh, I mean, it’s good you’re not dead-dead, Magnus.”

“Magnus,” said Frederick, “What about Annabeth, they didn’t say anything about her.”

“I don’t know but-”

“She’s alive, the last I saw of her, she made it to safety.” Said Gunilla.

“And you are?”

Gunilla puffed out her chest, “Gunilla Isadottir, daughter of Thor, Thane of Valhalla and Captain of the Valkyries.” Randolph looked impressed while his siblings simply appeared confused. Gunilla sighed, “I took Magnus’ soul instead of letting it go to Helheim.” 

“So if Norse gods  _ are _ real, is that why there’s a rainbow bridge here that most people can’t see? Because that’s really confusing.”

“You can see the Bifrost? That’s good. It’ll make it easier for you to understand.”

“Magnus, what’s it like in Valhalla?” Asked his mom. 

“Valhalla’s really nice! I get my own room and it has an atrium and the food’s good and there’s classes and stuff I can sign up for.” 

“That’s good. And is anyone taking care of you?”

“Gunilla! And Mallory! And Halfborn! And T.J.! They live in the same hall as me, they’re all really cool.”

“Good. And you’re happy?”

“Yeah!” His mom looked, like resigned, like bittersweet and resigned. “I’m really sorry I ran away though. I just wanted to be with Annabeth and Helen wasn’t being nice to her and yeah. I can come visit though! We could go hiking or something! Also I’m really strong now. Like I threw a sofa once.”

“Magnus Chase, why were you throwing a sofa?”

“... dunno.”

Randolph inserted himself back into the conversation. “Magnus, now that you’ve died, you should be able to claim your birthright. WIll you come with me? Your friend can come too.”

“Wherever he goes, I go.” said Gunilla harshly. 

\---

Somehow all of them fit into the car. And by somehow, Magnus meant he was stuck between his mom and Gunilla in what wasn’t actually a seat. He was clutching onto the arms of the women beside him. 

Gunilla looked ill. Her cheeks were pale and her throat and mouth were clenched like she was trying to hold her breakfast down. 

“Are you okay? You look like you’re gonna be sick.”

“Never been in a car before.” 

“Aren’t you like five hundred why’ve you never been in a car?”

  
“I can fly, use Yggdrasil and have a flying horse. What do I need to use a car for?”

“Fair enough,” said his mom.

They were at Longfellow Bridge. Randolph started giving a history lecture about why this was important but quickly realised that nobody was listening to him. So he just led them out to the middle of the bridge. “Magnus, put your arm over the water, try sensing something. It;s a sword, try to sense the sword.”

“A sword? What?”

“Do it.”

Gunilla said “Try- try sensing it, imagine you can feel it and then pull.”

Amazingly enough, he could feel something. This was insane. He imagined pulling Thalia away from the monsters, saving Halcyon Green, being normal again and everything he wanted. 

Directly below him, the surface of the water began to steam. Ice melted. Snow evaporated, leaving a hole the shape of a hand – his hand, twenty times larger. 

He didn’t know what he was doing. He’d had the same feeling when his mom first taught him to ride a bike. Don’t think about what you’re doing, Magnus. Don’t hesitate, or you’ll fall. Just keep going. He swept my hand back and forth. 

A hundred feet below, the steaming hand mirrored his movements, clearing the surface of the Charles.

Suddenly he stopped. A pinpoint of warmth hit the centre of his palm as if he’d intercepted a beam of sunlight. Something was down there … a heat source buried deep in the frigid mud of the river bottom. He closed my fingers and pulled. A dome of water swelled and ruptured like a dry-ice bubble. 

An object resembling a lead pipe shot upward and landed in his hand. It looked nothing like a sword. He held it by one end, but there was no hilt. If it had ever had a point or a sharp edge, it didn’t now. The thing was about the right size for a blade, but it was so pitted and corroded, so encrusted with barnacles and glistening with mud and slime, he couldn’t even be sure it was metal. 

In short, it was the saddest, flimsiest, most disgusting piece of scrap he’d ever magically pulled from a river. 

‘At last!’ Randolph lifted his eyes to the heavens.

Gunilla gasped, “The legends, they  _ were _ true.” 

“This isn’t a sword, this is a piece of junk.”

“It is right now but renew it Magnus, just try.”

“I don’t think this thing can be recycled, let alone renewed.” Still, Magnus focused his energy and thoughts all towards the… well he wasn’t about to call it a sword but the metal thingy. 

Frederick’s jaw dropped. Magnus glanced down at his hand but he wasn’t holding a scrap of gross metal anymore. This was a  _ sword _ . Not one of the standard Valhalla issue ones, this one was  _ nice _ . 

The leather-wrapped grip felt warm and comfortable in his hand. The pommel, a simple polished-steel oval, helped counterweight the thirty-inch blade, which was double-edged and rounded at the tip, more for hacking than for stabbing. 

Down the centre of the blade, a wide groove was emblazoned with Viking runes – the same kind he’d seen in Randolph’s office. They shimmered a lighter shade of silver, as if they’d been inlaid while the blade was forged. 

Somehow, despite nearly being the entire height of him, Magnus wasn’t immediately knocked over by its sheer weight and length. However, he was now inexplicitly exhausted. He yawned and nearly fainted, if it wasn’t for Gunilla catching him. 

“Barn, we have to go now. Thank you for your hospitality Miss Chase. We will visit-” everything went black. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I figured Magnus would get tired quicker since he's ten years younger than he is in canon.
> 
> Hope you guys liked that! 
> 
> Comments and kudos really make my day


	5. at least this time my hand isn’t getting tied to a desk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW for a lot of blood.

The hall realises that despite liking books, Magnus has had barely any education and halfborn tutors him with really funny results. gunilla is amused

Magnus thought that now he was dead he at least wouldn’t have to go to school. It wasn’t like he hated school and learning but he had had some unpleasant teachers in the past - his 1st grade teacher didn’t like that he was left handed and tied his hand to the desk until he told his mom and she brought hell down on the school for allowing her to do that. 

She could be really scary when provoked. 

Magnus had visited his mom a couple of times after he got the sword. She was clingier than he remembered and always cried when Gunilla came to pick him up but Magnus liked being close with her too. 

He’d even seen Randolph a couple of times too, although his uncle wasn’t exactly the definition of warm and loving. 

His mom took him out on hikes and asked him questions about Valhalla. She was happy he had Hall Nineteen and Gunilla but hated hearing about the battles, even if she asked specifically about them. 

She never voiced that but Magnus could see how her lips curled unpleasantly and her eyes turned glassy when he recounted how he’d died or killed someone the day before. 

It was understandable in Magnus’ opinion, no one wanted to hear about their child dying even if they did come back, or how they’d killed someone and been in those kinds of situations. 

Magnus didn’t like killing people though. He didn’t hate it anymore - they weren’t really dead, were they? But it was disgusting seeing blood spurt from wounds and gurgling noises from being choked and the sickening crunch of bones breaking, skulls cracking, ribs shattering. 

He was going to need a stronger stomach to survive Ragnarok. 

There was more to do in Valhalla than sneaking out to visit his mom and dying. There was… school. 

TJ had discovered that Magnus wasn’t the most educated when they were talking about their lives. 

“I could barely read before I came to Valhalla, just enough to get by and into the army. Not that they really care if you could read or not - there were three guys in my battalion who  _ could _ read properly. Apparently that’s quite a big problem in Valhalla so they offer basic reading and writing languages in all sorts of languages, less so now though, did you know only fourteen percent of the world is illiterate? It’s pretty cool.”

“Cool. I like reading but I hate maths. I’m so glad I left before we had to do the three times table it looked really difficult.” TJ stared at him. 

“Wait, can you not do your times tables? What can you do?” 

“I can read and write. That’s pretty much all we had to do in school though other than the maths. I hate maths.”

“I just assumed you were up to date with your education, you seemed so smart for your age.”

“Thanks?”

“I’ll talk to Halfborn, he has a PHD and knows all the best teachers in Valhalla.” And with that TJ left Magnus on his couch.

Magnus groaned, he really didn’t want to do maths. What was the point in being dead if he still had school?

A minute later TJ came back, with Halfborn in tow. Halfborn was surprisingly kempt for once, he’d had his beard brushed and was wearing an actual shirt - a blue button down with trousers. He was wearing lime green crocs though, which kind of ruined the look. 

“Magnus,” thankfully his voice was still the same. It was unnerving to see Halfborn as someone who didn’t look like they’d never heard of a stylist or barber. “TJ just told me you never finished school.”

“I’m six.” Halfborn looked embarrassed, like he should have realised that earlier - in Magnus’ opinion he  _ should _ have - but went on anyway. 

“Right. So if you’re going to be here for eternity or at least until Ragnarok, you ought to complete even a basic level otherwise it might be hard. And by hard I mean downright difficult - you’re going to need to be able to multiply and subtract at the very least.”

Magnus decided to take the plunge. If it would make his afterlife easier in the long term (very  _ long _ term) he should get it over and done with, right? “Sure.” 

“Excellent,” Halfborn clapped his hands excitedly, “I’ve been looking for a student so I can get my teaching licence for  _ ages _ . This is going to be fun!” 

‘Wait… you-”

“Come on! Lot’s to get started on. We can go to my room.” As Magnus left, passing by TJ, he kicked him in the shins. TJ just smirked down at him.  _ Dick _ . 

Spoilers: It was not fun. 

At least not for Magnus. 

“If you kill ten einherjar and three resurrect, how many are left dead?”

“Uhh.” Magnus checked his notes, “Seven?”

“Correct. Oh, hi Gunilla.”

His Valkyrie popped her head into the room in Halfborn’s suite. The hotel had been so kind as to turn it into a torture chamber, otherwise known as a classroom. It had one desk, a table for Halfborn and a blackboard with chalk. Originally it had supplied a wax tablet with a stylus for Magnus but he threw it into the fire and it was replaced with a notebook and pen. 

“Hi, Magnus, Halfborn. TJ told me what was happening and I just  _ had _ to come watch.” 

Great. Another person to watch his humiliation. It wasn’t his fault he barely understood what was going on - he hadn’t been in school for months now!

“Hi Gunilla,” he grumbled, glaring at the paper where he was very tempted to draw a doodle of Halfborn being stupid. Well more stupid than usual. 

Gunilla smiled at him before turning to Halfborn. “Why’re you so dressed up, Gunderson, going anywhere  _ special? _ ” Halfborn blushed.

“Maybe.”

“Yeah that’s weird because Mallory is also dressed up to go somewhere nice.”

“So weird. What a coincidence.”

“Yeah. A coincidence.” Magnus was very confused but this was more interesting than his practice sums so he tried to listen in. 

“Just a heads up, Mallory’s wearing green.”

“Oh. OH, right I’ll go get changed so we don’t clash, um… accidentally.” Halfborn started packing up his things, “Magnus, class dismissed! I have to go pick a better outfit.” 

Magnus practically jumped out of his seat. It was over! For today. “Thanks, Gunilla.”

“No problem, barn, I thought you’d worked hard enough today. I can’t believe it took these dungars so long to figure out you’d need to be taught something.”

“But not you?” 

“I figured it would be funnier if I let them realise how stupid they are. Although, if it had taken them over a year I would’ve stepped in. I do have  _ some _ faith in them, just not that much.” 

“Fair enough. Can we go do knife fighting now?”

“Yeah, alright.” 

They didn’t do knife fighting every day - Gunilla was busy a lot and Magnus often spent a while being dead or with his mom - but they did do it quite a lot. 

On the 13th floor of the hotel was where they had the arenas for training. They were absolutely  _ huge _ \- nearly as big as the battlefields themselves - just miles of sandy floors and clashing weapons. 

They put their stuff down at the side before getting in position. 

“Magnus, you need to balance yourself out a bit more, it would be so easy to knock you over right now.”

“Like this?”

“Move your back foot a smidge to the left… yep that’s it. Okay, take a shot.”

Magnus moved towards her, trying to aim for the space just under her breastplate, where there was a gap in her armour. She’d taught him that it was good to try and get the spots of a person’s body where they were weakest - eyes, nose, pressure points, groin, stomach, et cetera. 

Gunilla parried him with no effort but didn’t make any move to attack, giving him an advantage. He tried again, going for her thigh and actually succeeding, his grandfather’s knife hitting true. 

“Ow! Fuck! Good shot, that really hurt. Let me get the first aid kit before we remove the knife.” 

He’d actually done it! He’d gotten Gunilla. Nice. She was limping over to the side of the arena, hand held to just above her leg. He ran over to join her.

“Sorry Gunilla.”

“No, don’t apologise, that was really good. Now you get to learn how to treat a wound.”

“I could try and heal it?” Gunilla thought about it for a second. 

“Okay. You can do that, let me just have the First Aid kit at the side in case it doesn’t work right.” She lay down on one of the benches, Magnus kneeling beside her, hands outstretched. She pulled out the knife, tossing it to the side and blood immediately went everywhere, like a burst pipe. 

Magnus slammed his hands on the wound. He could feel her heartbeat and everything wrong with her body - there was a bruise on her left shoulder from slamming it into a door frame that was healing, a stubbed toe and of course, the stab wound. 

He tried to condense all his energy and push it into that one area. His vision flickered. For a second he was flying above Half Blood Hill, four children climbing up it, pursued by monsters, then he was in one of the Valhalla cafe’s a handsome smirking boy with tawny hair staring at her, the next the same boy was standing across from her in a battlefield - but not the hotel one, a proper one with giants behind him. 

Magnus could feel the skin closing up, cells knitting back together, blood replenishing and took a step back. 

And immediately collapsed. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! Sorry about the wait guys, hope you've enjoyed this update though


	6. Chapter Six

Magnus woke up with a dry mouth and pounding headache. Someone was right in his face, staring at him. He blinked. It was Gunilla, looking unusually unkempt with her hair loose for once and bags under her eyes. “Whas gon on?” He grunted, squinting at the light. 

“You overused your powers when you were healing me and passed out. For three days.” Gunilla sounded… not pissed. More worried. About him?

“Three days?”

“Yes. We’re going to have a discussion about your powers but right now. Are you feeling okay? I brought you water?” She lifted up a glass into Magnus’ peripheral vision. He shrugged himself into a sitting position and grabbed the glass, greedily gulping down all the water. The banging in his head subdued itself. 

The room he was in came into view, now that he wasn’t in so much pain. To no surprise, it was his. The only main difference was that his sofa had been moved into his bedroom area and had a sleeping bag and pillows on it (that had “Property of Hotel Valhalla” written on them). “Have you been sleeping here?  _ Hic _ -” Apparently gulping the water too fast had had a side effect. Hiccups. Great. 

“Not just me the whole hall. This is kinda… not unprecedented. But unusual. Vanir and Alf Sedir users don’t end up in Valhalla so we weren’t sure how long it would take for you to recover. Technically you did die from it but it’s taken this long for the hotel to fix you. 

“Oh.” Magnus’ body spasmed again. He dropped the glass, it falling on his sheets and rolling onto the floor from there. For a second they just stared at it but amazingly it didn’t crack. “Magic hotel glass, I guess.”

Gunilla picked it off the floor and placed it on his nightstand, far from any edges, “Apparently so. Do you want to get dressed and I can put your sofa back to rights?”

“Sure.” 

For a person that had been passed out for the last three days, Magnus felt amazing. Fresh as a daisy. Whatever they put in the hotel magic or whatever fixed them, it was seriously good. He pulled on his clothes as Gunilla could be heard dropping something very heavy on the floor. 

He walked out into the hallway, “Can we talk in the atrium?” Gunilla nodded. 

“I’ll make hot chocolate and we can talk there.”

“Thanks.” 

A minute later Gunilla joined him under a tree with a steaming mug of hot chocolate. It was burning hot, just boiled, but felt fine to Magnus. Frey powers for the win!

“So,” Oh, she was starting. “About your powers.” Gunilla put down her mug and clasped her hands in her lap, “You’re extremely powerful, even for a demigod einherjar, but at the moment you’re over extending yourself and in Valhalla, that’s fine, you’ll always come back but if you go on a mission and die there…” She trailed off, her forehead wrinkled and eyebrows furrowed. She grabbed a comb out of nowhere and started parting her hair, almost absentmindedly, “As your Valkyrie and your  _ friend _ , I have a duty of care for you and therefore I’ve come up with something.” Her left braid was almost finished but she kept braiding until she ran out of hair and had the tiniest ends when she put the bobble in. 

Magnus had a feeling, from her behaviour, that he was not going to like this. “And what is it?”

Gunilla bit her lip.  _ Oh  _ no _. Not good at all _ . “Your father.”

“... what about him?” 

“I have a report for him to deliver this week about jotunn activity - it’s boring and not important. But I asked him if he could help you with your powers and he’s agreed to take you for a week.” 

_ What. What. What. His dad? His dad who he’s never met but is a god. That guy? He’s going to help him with his powers? The fuck? What? _

“Huh. Are you… are you sure he said that?” Gunilla rummaged around in one of her pockets. 

“Yeah, here,” she pulled out a note. 

Thane Gunilla,  slayer of Sven, Lord of the Daugur, tamer of the Kraken, slayer of Harrald, Son of Loki, Captain of the Valkyries, 

In regard to your suggestion about young Magnus, I agree. When you come here to give me your report in person, would you be amenable to bringing him also to give to me for a week to teach him how to use his powers properly? Please reply as soon as is convenient .

Regards, 

Frey, son of Njord, (former) King of Sweden, Lord of Alfheim, etc. 

It took Magnus a minute to decipher what the letter said. Mainly all he got from it was that Gunilla had some seriously cool stuff and he was going to have to meet his dad and immediately have to stay with him for a week. 

“Wait, is the kraken real?”

“Yeah. I mean I didn’t actually tame it but I did distract it for five minutes while we were trying to sail past it but the story kinda got out of control and I got a shiny new title for my list.”

“Cool. So… did you send a reply to Frey?”

“Not yet, I needed to ask you first. Do you want to go? At the very least, even if you don’t get on with your dad, he  _ could _ teach you a lot. And in all fairness, Frey is one of the nicer gods. He’s a sight lot better than, say,  _ my _ father.” She looked at Magnus, an expression on her face that Magnus didn’t recognise. “It’s only for a week.”

“Okay. I’ll do it. It’s just a week, right?” Magnus tried for a weak smile. “So when are we leaving?” 

Gunilla was scribbling onto a piece of paper, finished her note and pulled out a silver whistle. “Give me a minute.”

“What was that for?” Then Magnus found out because the raven that Gunilla had evidently summoned had decided his head made a good perch. He froze. It was weirdly heavy for a bird, even such a big one and it’s claws were digging uncomfortably into his scalp. 

_ Please have already been to the bathroom. Please have already been to the bathroom.  _

Gunilla handed it the note and a gold coin. It (from what Magnus could see from his admittedly unusual vantage point) bit the coin before taking it in its mouth properly and, with a bit of discomfort to Magnus, flew off, out into the corridor. 

Magnus reached up to feel his hair.  _ Well at least it wouldn’t be inaccurate to call it a bird’s nest now _ . He could see Gunilla struggling not to laugh at him. 

“Could I please borrow your comb?” He tried to sound as light as possible, despite how annoyed he felt. 

“Here,” she passed it over. It was nice, carved from bone and had little drawings etched into it, swirling patterns and runes and the like. Magnus recognised thurisaz, the rune of Thor, Gunilla’s father, and a strand of very carefully carved wheat. He ran his thumb over it. 

“That’s Sif’s symbol.”

“The lady with the hair?” Magnus remembered  _ some _ things from his mom’s bedtime stories. 

“Yep. Now are you going to just look at the comb or are you actually going to fix your hair?” 

“Okay, okay.” Magnus disliked taking care of his hair. He kept it long because his mom liked it like that - despite being teased in school for “looking like a girl”. It was a pain on the run but he really didn’t have the time or resources to visit a barber’s so he was kinda stuck just growing it out. And when he got here? He didn’t like to think about it too much, that’s all. 

“Hurry up, we’re meeting your dad in an hour?” Magnus’ eyes bugged out of his head.

“An  _ hour? _ Gunilla, I haven’t even packed!”

“Calm down, barn, you don’t need to. There’s clothes there for you.”

“You sure about that?”

“... he might have mentioned it in a previous note. Normally he’d send these to Odin but since he’s not… here, everyone goes through me or Frigg, depending on the issue. You’ve come up a couple of times, you’re his son and Vanir don’t really end up here so…”

“Right.” Magnus wasn’t sure about how he felt about Gunilla talking to his dad behind his back and keeping it from him but he wasn’t sure how much he could do about it, really. He quickly turned his hair into something that was semi presentable and grabbed Jack. Time to go on a family visit then. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is a bit shorter than my usual updates but i have another one coming at the end of the week so don't worry. I hope you've all had a good new year and that you've enjoyed this chapter!


	7. family visit

Magnus now realised why Gunilla hated the tree. The squirrel was horrible. 

They had just been climbing through its branches, Magnus trying to sense what felt like Vanaheim when it arrived, screeching and hateful. He tried to block out most of it but it was almost impossible.

“YOU’RE A FAILURE! YOU COULDN’T SAVE YOUR FRIENDS! YOU FAILED THALIA! YOU CAN’T FIGHT! YOU’LL ALWAYS BE WEAK!” Ratarosk shrieked some more things but Magnus was trying not to cry so much that he couldn’t hear anything other than his blood thundering in his ears and his breath becoming broken and uneven. He swept his arm around, hoping for an escape, and thankfully finding one. 

He grabbed Gunilla’s arm, her face ashen and grey, and pulled her towards the exit. The sooner they were gone the better. 

A minute later they were in a clearing with the sun smiling down on them and a stream beside them humming a merry tune.

Magnus collapsed onto the grass. His chest felt tight but he wasn’t sure if that was from a potential asthma attack or trying not to cry.  _ Deep breaths _ . 

Eventually he got a handle on himself and managed to roll over and sit up. He could see Gunilla sitting with her back to him, still as a statue. He sniffed away any residual tears and clambered over to her. 

She had tossed her boots beside her and was sitting with her feet stuck in the water and was just staring into it listlessly. 

“Gunilla?” Magnus’ voice was no louder than a whisper but she snapped her head around anyway.

“How- how long have we been here? Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” whispered Magnus, “Are  _ you _ ?”

“I will be,” she clenched her teeth and jumped to her feet, “Is your father here?”

“Yes,” said a new voice from behind them. Magnus whirled around, knife in hand. It was a man. Perfectly ordinary looking, with blond hair and a slightly nervous expression. He was staring at Magnus with an almost desperate expression. Magnus eyed Gunilla but she wasn’t preparing to attack, so he assumed it was safe. 

“Lord Frey,” Gunilla inclined her head. Magnus waved. If this was really his dad, it would be a bit weird to bow or whatever, right?

“Thank you for meeting with me, Thane Gunilla, and thank you for bringing my son,” Magnus tried not to fiddle with the cuff of his sleeve. He still felt quite weak but this guy’s whole aura was relaxing and warm and calmed him down to his core. 

Gunilla opened her mouth and closed it several times like a goldfish, “Lord Frey, I was wondering if our meeting could be pushed back to when I come to collect Magnus,”

“Yes, that sounds acceptable,”

Gunilla nodded again and grabbed her boots and put them on, not even brushing the water and dirt off her feet. She hugged Magnus tightly, “Be good and try and learn as much as possible, barn,” she whispered in his ear. He tried to hug back as much as he could but she had managed to trap his arms so they were stuck at his sides. 

Then she was gone, leaving Magnus and his estranged father. Alone. 

“Um… hi?” He tried not to let his voice squeak in vain.

“Hello Magnus, it’s nice to finally meet you.”

“You too,”

Frey blinked at him, “You have done incredibly well, albeit how tragic it is to have you die so young. But I am very proud of you.”

“Cool. Thanks.” He really didn’t know what to say to that. It was nice but what kind of response could he really give?

“Right. So my palace is nearly, within walking distance and that’s where we’re going to be staying for the week. Follow me,” And Magnus did. 

All through the walk, Frey kept glancing at him but never said a word. He reminded Magnus of an Australian surfer dude turned hiker with his blond hair, tan and flannel. It was honestly weird how much he looked like Magnus though. They even had the same cowlick behind their ears.

When they got to the palace, Magnus was amazed by the size of it. For a god who’d apparently been around since pre BCE, it was a fairly modern style. Annabeth probably would’ve been able to identify the style and era but Magnus knew nothing about that kind of thing. 

It was like a huge wall of ornate brick and arched windows, so wide Magnus couldn’t see past it at all. The courtyard in front was very orderly, the most orderly thing he’d seen in the nine worlds, with a gravel path and topiary bushes trimmed to perfection. Between them and the palace though, was an extremely still river, with birds flying around and fish jumping out of it. 

They reached the stone bank when a frog from one of the lily pads, just jumped up and landed on Magnus’ hands. It was slimy and cool but Magnus decided to let it stay there if it wanted to. It laid out on its back, on his open palms, and just went to sleep. 

Frey whistled and suddenly all the lily pads that were dotted along the river grew to ten times their size and shifted so they were in line as some kind of plant bridge. 

“Nice,” Magnus let the admiration pour out of his tone. Frey looked pleased.

The lily pad bridge was weird underfoot. Magnus knew it wouldn’t probably collapse under him but at the same time he didn’t want to risk it so he moved as slowly as he could, clutching his new amphibian friend so he wouldn’t risk falling in and drowning during his nap. 

The gravel was crunchy underfoot and more importantly, more reliable than a lily pad, no matter how godly. Frey whistled again, a much lower one than the first, and they dissipated back to their original positions and sizes. 

He had changed though. Now that they had reached the other side, his posture was straighter, eyes sharper, and while his clothes hadn’t changed, they seemed more… polished. The cuffs of his shit weren’t frayed any more and there weren’t any darned holes on his trousers like there had been before. 

A man rushed out the door with hair like hay, in a simple uniform of a black blazer with gold and green embroidery. The crest on his pocket was too far away to make out properly but it kind of looked like a boar on grass with deer antlers. 

He bowed, huffing out “My Lord, your wife is in the eastern drawing room and wishes to see you as soon as possible.”

“Thank you, Jan,” Frey waved his hand, “You are dismissed,” The man bowed again, both at Magnus and his father, and left. 

Frey moved to put his hands on Magnus’ shoulders, making Magnus step back instinctively. He instead put them on his thighs, matching Magnus’ height, “I’m going to introduce you to your stepmother. You don’t need to worry about anything, she’s been looking forward to meeting you.”

That was a relief at least. Jack buzzed anxiously at his throat when his step mother was mentioned. Magnus tried to recall any stories he knew about her - Gerd. There wasn’t much but he thought his father might’ve given up the sword to marry her or something. That would make sense. Randolph had mentioned it once but the guy was so intense that Magnus tried to avoid him or tune him out most of the time. 

The interior of the palace was even more fancy than the exterior. It was nothing like the Chase Mansion, with its dark rooms and dusty books. The hallways were golden and full of light with carpets soft as moss, or maybe the carpets were actually just growing plants. The wooden windows were made of the most intricately knotted wood patterns, all swirling around, and there were plants everywhere, humming with so much power that it was almost tangible. 

There were a few portraits in the gallery they walked through. Magnus didn’t recognise any of them apart from one portrait of his father and another of Njord. Most of them were blond, although a good few weren’t, and if he had to guess they might’ve been half siblings of his, or some kind of relation at least. 

Apart from Njord and Frey, the other most decorated portraits were of two women, one a feminine equivalent to his father, probably Freya, and the other a ginger woman with ivory silver skin and grass green eyes. She was positioned opposite his father’s so… Gerd? 

He realised that he had fallen behind and ran to catch up. It wouldn’t do to be running in late as a guest. 

Calling the eastern drawing room a simple drawing room… it would be an understatement. 

It was a huge greenhouse, full of exotic plants and ponds and animals. There were so many animals, from rabbits and hares bounding about, to goats and boars and deer, just roaming the rooms, as civilised as any person. Frey led him through the room to behind some trees where seats were sat beside a goldfish pond. And one one of those seats was a woman, identical to the painting. Magnus internally cheered, he’d gotten it right!

Frey coughed, making her look up from the book she was reading, “My dear, may I introduce my son, Magnus Chase,” he was fiddling with his hands, like how Magnus did and a ring had now appeared on his finger and was being rotated around absentmindedly. Magnus tried his best to smile and nodded his head out of respect. He hoped his father was right that she wanted to meet him. It must be really awkward to meet a kid your husband had while you were married. Well, it was awkward for all of them at least. 

When she stood up, Magnus realised that he had seriously misjudged her height. She was at least seven feet tall and Magnus probably came up to her upper mid leg at most. But her skin was even shinier than it was in the painting, almos translucent and glowing. 

“Hello, Magnus,” she said, a kind smile on her face. He voice wasn’t soft, nothing like it, it was regal and warm and confident, “It’s very nice to meet you at last,”

“You too,” Magnus cursed his inability to know what to say. These people were formal, their servants bowed to them, they had a palace, they had titles and Magnus did’t know how he was supposed to act. Should he be formal? Or would that offend them because he’s their kind of child? He didn’t want to be informal and shock them either, what could he do?

“Thank you for having me here,” He said in a very even, careful tone. It was essential he made a good impression if he wanted to get any better with his powers. 

Gerd gestured to a seat opposite her, “Sit, we’re having tea.”

“Tea? Isn’t that from like… India?”

“Actually it has older roots in China but we find it to be a very good drink to have while talking,” she poured a cup out and passed it on a saucer to Magnus who was now regretting never watching Pride and Prejudice or some other regency era tv show. 

He took a small sip. It was just normal tea, at the perfect temperature and it wasn’t too strong or too milky. Of all godly powers, Magnus would’ve never guessed making the perfect cup of tea would be up there. 

Frey took a sip too, “So I understand you’ve been having problems using your powers and the Alf Sedir?”

“I’ve been kinda dying and straining myself too much and Gunilla says I should try and get that under control in case I die for real healing someone.”

“That is true. Well there is a lot to learn with Alf Sedir but fortunately much of it is more innate so it ends up being more down to practice than teaching, but I can help you there.” He glanced up through the glass roof, “It’s getting late here, the timezones are different to what they are in Valhalla, I’ll have Pers show you your rooms and we can talk more tomorrow. Drink up.” 

When Magnus finished his tea, a servant appeared and took him round hundreds of corridors and staircases and hallways and private indoor gardens and galleries. He was glad he hadn’t put down his frog yet, who had since woken up and was just staring at Magnus, not even attempting to escape, even though Magnus had tried to let him know he could leave. 

They finally got there. He was amazed he wasn’t having an asthma attack but for some reason, despite Valhalla not fully fixing his lungs, they were better in Vanaheim. Stronger. It was like how he had never had problems hiking but more intense. Potent. 

His room was behind a door with the dagaz symbol on the handle. Instead of giving him a runestone, like in Valhalla, Pers just took a knife from his pocket, grabbed Magnus' hand and suddenly slashed across it, drawing a deep wound and holding it to the door. It hurt a lot but after a few seconds, the wound began to heal itself and the door opened. 

“The bedroom is just past the sitting room and left of the garden. Your bathroom is through that door,” he pointed at a wooden door on the right side of the room, “And your study is over there.” He pointed again. “Is that everything, sir?”

“Yes, thank you.” And he was alone. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So!!! We finally met Gerd and Frey!!! I tried to find information on Vanaheim and where Frey lived but there wasn't much as far as I could see so I made up lots of it but quite a bit is actually inspired by the Stockholm Palace because in one myth Frey is the king of Sweden and I though'd that'd be interesting. The drawing room is actually inspired by the greenhouse in Howl's Moving Castle though. I hoped you guys liked that! Tell me what you thought!


	8. another home from home

The rooms were nice. Really nice. Also: rooms. Plural. That was still weird for Magnus. Sure, he had his own suite in Valhalla but he was going to be here for a week only. And considering that, everything here was very prepared and organised. 

Frey must’ve had very efficient servants to do that on such short notice. And an assigned stalker since everything here was nearly as customised as his room in Valhalla. Not quite, there were no photos or distinct items like that but on the coffee table there were comic books and some fantasy books that he had been  _ meaning _ to buy but hadn’t gotten around to doing that yet. 

Maybe Frey had the same taste in novels? Who knew. 

Despite only being awake for five hours at most, Magnus was more tired than he thought he’d be. Maybe the combination of the journey and Ratatosk and going into Vanaheim and his father’s palace and the fact he was still maybe in recovery for magical exhaustion of whatever he did, meant he was probably ready to go to sleep soon. 

He walked over to the bedroom and pushed open the heavy oak door with one hand, balancing the frog on the other. It was a good thing he had superhuman strength now because otherwise he might’ve struggled with that. 

His hand was itching where it had been cut, the skin knitting together but for once the feeling was more painful and intense. But when he checked his palm, the scratch mark was fading away and it was unmarred once more. His hand glowed, light emitting from where the cut had been. 

Huh. That was quicker than usual. Vanaheim was  _ weird _ . 

The bedroom was very different from his room in Valhalla or his old room at home. In the middle of the room, against the back wall, was a four poster bed with thickly embroidered hangings and drapes in green and gold. On the bed, the cover matched the drapes but there was an honest-to-gods pelt on there. Like a real animal. Thankfully the head wasn’t there or else Magnus might’ve felt obliged to throw it into the fire opposite the bed. It was blazing away, somehow, but the wood wasn’t burning away like normal wood. 

Bloody magic gods with their bloody magic wood. Would it kill them to do things the normal way? This was giving Magnus a headache. 

There were some chairs next to the bed, like an impromptu sitting room. They were facing a window that had its curtains shut for now but Magnus could tell it faced East. He had no idea how strong Vanaheim dawns were but he hoped the curtains would be able to keep them out. He put the frog down on a table.

“Can you stay there for now? I really need to sleep.” It ribbeted loudly and Magnus turned away. 

He yawned, stretching his arms over his head as he did.  _ What was he going to wear to sleep?  _

There was a chest of drawers beside the bed, out of place unlike everything else. They must’ve filled it up in a hurry. He opened it and true to his suspicions, it was full of clothing. And these ones didn’t even say “Property of Hotel Valhalla” either!

He rummaged through it, mostly finding tunics and breeches and a nice new pair of boots with lovely wool socks inside them. Most importantly, he found… well they looked like pyjamas. 

It was like a very long t-shirt and pants. And a dressing gown too. Honestly he was too tired to care if they were actual clothes or not so he just pulled off what he was wearing, placed them neatly on one of the armchairs (he didn’t want to cause any unnecessary mess for some servant) and put the new clothes on. 

Magnus didn’t know much about clothing, he’d be the first to say it (if Mallory didn’t beat him to it) but these were so soft and warm and the material felt expensive but not in an unpleasant way. It was like the nicest lamb’s wool had been woven together to make this. 

His eyes fluttered closed for a second. He considered keeping them there and just falling asleep right on the floor but it might’ve gotten cold later so he forced them back open, despite his body protesting and his mind complaining, pulled the cover and duvet and blankets back and sank onto the bed. 

It was like lying on a cloud. It was possibly the nicest bed he’d ever slept in. Or maybe the nicest bed ever. He stretched out his arms and legs, lying in the middle, trying to reach the sides with no avail and let himself sink into the mattress and into sleep. 

At some point during the night, he woke up and for a second, just for a split second, he could’ve sworn he saw someone out of the corner of his eye. But he looked again and they were gone. Probably his imagination. 

When he woke up for real in the morning, a set of clothes had been laid out for him already and there was a note on the coffee table in the front room. 

_ When you’ve dressed, Pers will be waiting outside your room to bring you to breakfast. We will begin your training afterwards.  _

  * _ᚠ_



**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is a lot shorter than my other updates, i know but i haven't had much inspiration to write this lately so if people could comment that would be great. i hope you liked it though and hopefully it won't be as long before i update again :/


	9. power training with your estranged father. part one

After getting dressed and grabbing his new pet he joined Pers outside his room and began the trek to where they were eating breakfast. He had once watched Pride and Prejudice with his mom and this place must’ve been at least seven times the size of Pemberley or something. Like Valhalla was big but tons of people lived there. He had no idea how many people lived here but it didn’t really add up from what he’d seen. 

Still, they made it there. It was a different room than yesterday, like a parlour of sorts with a nice view into the garden. It reminded him of where he got breakfast with his hallmates, very casual. Except this was his deadbeatish dad and stepmother. _ No pressure.  _

Pers coughed, “Prince Magnus-” He was about to go on, Magnus thought, looking at his face but he cut himself off when he saw Magnus’ own very confused expression. 

“Thank you, Pers,” waved Frey from the table. “Magnus, come, sit.” He patted the chair next to him. He joined them, putting his frog next to him on the table. 

“Did you sleep well?”

“Um… yeah. It was fine. Is that watermelon?” He pointed at a bowl beside Gerd which looked like it had fruit in it. 

“Yes, do you want some?” Magnus nodded and Gerd passed him the bowl.

“Who’s your friend?” She gestured to the frog. 

“I picked them up yesterday at the river so he would be okay and I tried to put them down, I promise, but they won’t go.”

“That’s alright. Sometimes it happens. Many of your siblings have also shown an affinity with animals. Do they have a name?”

“Um.... no”

“Would you like to give them one?”

“Uh… sure. They remind me of Toad from the X-Men. So… Toad’s a good name, what do you think?” He asked the frog. They ribbeted in reply.  _ That was a yes then _ . “Hi Toad.” 

Gerd grinned at Frey. 

\---

After breakfast Frey led him out to this meadow. “So what can you do? I think for this week we work on making sure you can use your powers without injuring yourself too much.”

Magnus nodded. He didn’t really get it but whatever. He needed help or bad stuff would happen. 

“Um so I can like heal? Like I healed Gunilla and it was like glowy and stuff but then I got like thoughts in my head. That weren’t mine. Then I passed out. It was crazy.”

“That matches up with what I was told about you. That’s all promising though. You’re still very young and have hundreds or even thousands of years to unlock your powers. Today’s just… it’s a starting point.”

“Okay. Okay. So like you got anything injured or… cause that’s all I can really do at the moment.” He tried not to blush and failed.  _ He really didn’t want to let his dad down. This place was so cool and his stepmom was so nice which Magnus didn’t really get since he was like from Frey cheating on her. He’d seen enough trashy dramas with Mallory to know that that wasn’t normal.  _

Frey didn’t answer but took out a knife and slashed the palm of his hand, golden blood (Magnus couldn’t remember the name) coming out to stain the cuff of his flannel. “Try this.”

“Did you just cut yourself?” He took the bleeding hand and tried to heal it, his hands turning gold, both from the blood and glowing. When he was done there wasn’t even a mark left. 

“Thank you, Magnus.” Frey brushed his hand through Magnus’ hair, “Good job, that’s far better than I was expecting.”

Magnus was surprised that he didn’t feel tired. Not even a little stiff. It was like this place amplified his powers, made them stronger. He wondered what else he could do. Frey was a nature god, right? Maybe he could make grass grow. He thought about it really hard, pushing all his power into the grass beside his foot and there was something there, a little tendril of power, not much so he knelt down and pressed his hand into the ground and it grew! 

Not much to be sure, only about half a foot or something but it happened! He looked up at his father who was watching him with fascinated eyes. “Well done! That’s- that’s amazing. Do you feel alright?”

“Hmmm? Yeah I feel fine. It’s weird. I mean I only passed out because it was so deep and there was so much to fix, it was like a couple of inches deep, you know? There’s like layers and I had to fix all of them and stop her bleeding out and everything.”

“I understand,” and then he stabbed himself in the chest, right below where his heart might be. “Now try again.”

Magnus could only stand there gobsmacked.  _ What was wrong with this man? He just gave himself a really bad injury to test his powers? Why? _

Frey knelt down so he could reach and Magnus felt around the wound with his powers, not pulling out the knife yet in case he made it worse. Once he was sure it was okay he pulled it out, tossing it to the side and concentrated everything he had to make it heal up. He could feel loads of layers of skin and tissue and muscle and fat, all ripped apart, knitting them back together. 

Images appeared in his mind, his mom skipping stones at a pond, hiking along with her, Jack and his dad fighting giants, a dinner with Gerd, a meeting with Gunilla who looked distraught but understanding.  _ What does it mean? _

Eventually he managed to pull away, his entire new top stained gold. “It’s called ichor. The blood of the gods.”

Magnus needed to sit down. He had a headache. He sat next to the knife that his dad had stabbed himself with and started cleaning it on the grass. Ichor was weird. More fluid but still very thick. And there was no smell like blood had, just a feeling of power and that it was very old. Very, very old. 

“How old are you?”

“About threeish thousand now. I’m not entirely sure, calendars change so much.” Frey put his hand on Magnus’ forehead although Magnus could bet he didn’t need that to tell his temperature, being the god of healing and all. 

“You’re warm.”

“I’m tired. That was a lot. Are we going anything else today?”

Frey thought for a moment, “Not in terms of your powers, you could injure or kill yourself if you push too hard and you’re not immortal here, even if I could probably resuscitate you. Don’t want to risk it, still. Do you want me to show you the palace and grounds? Properly, I mean.”

“Sounds fun!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It may have been a month but I'm back at last! Hope you guys liked this and please tell me what you thought!

**Author's Note:**

> Okay! I'm not sure so far as to whether I should make this another oneshot series or a full fic but I hope you guys enjoyed it! I'm really looking forward to exploring Gunilla's character more along with the other members of Hall 19
> 
> Tell me what you thought!
> 
> My tumblr is @mallorykeenwasmylesbianawakening if you wanna check it out


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